And the Birds Sing No More
by Burlesque Romantique
Summary: "Don't ever leave me." Lovino said nothing. He allowed the tense heaviness to settle among his shoulders, tighten his lungs, and spread between the space from where he stood to where Antonio was seated lethargically. Antonio's gaze sharpened. Lovino, inclining his head slightly, whispered, "I won't." Spamano, AU
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Well, this is the first story I've decided to put up on here in the last six years I've been on this site, and I spent an awful long time just trying to plan it out properly in my head before I even decided to write a word. This story is going to explore the psychological phenomenon, known as Stockholm Syndrome, in which hostages or victims begin to develop feelings of sympathy, empathy, or love towards their captors. I always found this "syndrome" so fascinating, and I've wanted to write something on the topic for a long time, so I thought it might as well be Hetalia, because feel comfortable enough with attempting to write these characters. And I like the idea of a psychotic Spain. And this is my favorite pairing, so yeah. Excuse the shortness of this chapter, but it is the prologue so it's not supposed to be long. And it's also not where the story begins.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **None

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
I. Prologue

Flames danced to life beneath the black coils atop the stove, and Lovino stood there and watched as tiny tendrils of smoke curled up from a previous spill on the burner. A slight violet tinge bloomed across the black rings, before assuming some reddish-purple tones, like unripe blackberries. It shifted again to a burning sunset orange until finally settling on an intense, heated red. He stared distantly, a teakettle snug in his grip, as he vaguely recalled in his thoughts that the violent hues remind him of Dante's nine rings of Hell. His eyebrows pinched together as he banished the thought from his mind, and placed the kettle haphazardly on the searing metal, listening for a moment as the water sloshed inside. His lip curled in distaste before his gaze, from the kitchen, searched the living room. His eyes fell upon the place where linoleum met carpet and where the flashing lights from the television set illuminated the couch. The back wall. Antonio's passive, sleepy countenance. Lovino absentmindedly fiddled with the handle of the kettle, pulling it forward to center it over the heat.

Antonio slipped the tip of his thumbnail between his lips, biting at it as he stared vacantly at the television. Despite the neutrality of his face, a smile hid at the corner of his mouth, inconspicuous and lingering. His silhouette was visible through the large wooden walkway betwixt the living room and kitchen. He was leaning forward, elbows placed securely on his knees, the epitome of interest towards the glaring television set. Lovino said nothing. He watched condensation gather on the kettle's metallic surface, beginning around the middle and dripping down to hiss as they disintegrated in the hellish coils below. Like tears or sweat. Sighing in agitation, he lifted the kettle by its black handle, gritting his teeth together and listening to the _SSSS _of the water against metal. He rearranged the kettle and set it back down, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. He silently sulked and wished there were something better to drink than just tea. He was getting so sick of tea.

"Hey … Lovi." **  
**

Lovino's lip twitched and his insides squirmed, rising and falling in a movement that reminded him of the sensation when one was on a swing set, or when falling in a dream, only to awake in a cold sweat.

"Hm?"

Antonio didn't look away from the television, seemingly enraptured with whatever asinine pictures appeared across the screen. Soft blue and clinical white flashed on his face, casting dark shadows with every flicker of movement, and his voice was a low hum, like a song that was playing just a little too slowly. His fingers were clenched, intertwined and folded beneath his lips, a mimicry of how one looks when praying. The half of his smile that Lovino could see seemed frozen, and his eyes were flat, but Lovino felt like Antonio was watching him even if his eyes weren't moving.

"What're you thinking about?"

Hot little spiders erupted across Lovino's skin, raising the hairs along his arms and the back of his neck. He was aware of the marble counter top digging into his lower back, and the handles from the array of drawers pressing lightly into his skin. He knew that Antonio had most of them locked because they were full of knives, bottle openers, roasting tools. He licked his lips once, then sunk his top teeth into the bottom lip. He shuddered Steam had begun to rise from the perspiring teakettle and for an abrupt moment Lovino felt the insatiable want to take it and smash it across Antonio's skull.

"Nothing." He pressed his hands hesitantly, discretely to the closest drawer's handle and tried to curl the tips of his fingers around it. He pulled gently, carefully, trying to withhold any sounds that may erupt from the slight movements, but the drawer was jammed, stopped undoubtedly by a lock, and the silverware inside rustled and clanked and made loud, metallic sounds.

Antonio blinked owlishly, forehead crinkling as his grin widened, and Lovino could feel the heavy pressure of Antonio's imaginary stare. He pulled his twined fingers apart, flexing them almost unconsciously. His eyebrows suddenly rose, disappearing behind dark curls of hair, and his face became stoic and calm. The man on the couch said sharply, abruptly, but in a soft tone, "Don't _ever _leave me."

Lovino said nothing. He allowed the tense heaviness to settle among his shoulders, tighten his lungs, and spread between the space from where he stood to where Antonio was seated lethargically. Antonio's gaze sharpened. Lovino, inclining his head slightly, whispered, "I won't."

The teakettle screamed.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N****: **Holy shit, thanks so much for the reviews, favorites, and alerts! I was ecstatic that people liked this, so I started the next chapter almost immediately. I tried to stick with one tense this time, so I hope that's better. Hopefully this chapter's length pleases you guys, I always disliked short chapters, and I'd prefer not to be a hypocrite. I hope the characters remain in character, I definitely had difficulties because of how I perceive a person's reaction to this kind of situation, and Lovino's usual anger seemed out of place if I overused it. He won't be so emotional later, I promise.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Violence, language

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
II. Chapter 1

Everything always turns toward the light; it is associated with flames that heat the reaching hands of children, saving numbed fingers from the frostbitten winter chill, it lures certain flowers to face upward in the direction of the sun with their petals and leaves yearning for life, it is the source of all color and sight and fills shadows with brightness and affects human behavior and emotion, it chases away the nightmares that lingers under a child's bed or in the closet with luminescence in the form of a cheap nightlight. When death clings to the skin of a living being they turn to the light as a way of accepting their fate, the morbid parallel to the welcoming light of life. Light ultimately becomes a saving grace.

But when Lovino's mind began to emerge from the depths of unconsciousness he did not accept the light like a child seeking warmth, or a flower reaching from its rooted place, and behind his eyelids it created shadows rather than dissipate them. He regarded it as a light from the end of a tunnel; the singular eye of light from a train surging at him, a giant, metal cyclops with much more force and promise of pain than any car could bring. There was no chance to step out of the way, it shone on him like a deer in the headlights and it engulfed him. No motor functions allowed him to open his mouth to scream and all the came out was a tiny sob.

The light shrunk away, suddenly fading back into the darkness as if something had pulled it by the legs and dragged it away. He was stuck in the blackness once more and he tried to open his mouth a second time but it felt more like there wasn't a mouth at all. He pressed his tongue outwards where his mouth should have been, but there was nothing and he couldn't puncture through the solid skin and he was suddenly terrified.

The sound of what could have been a balloon being pierced echoed near his ear. A sluggish, disembodied voice, like it was under water, spoke out.

"_...Oohhhhh, thank...GODD..." _

The cursed light came back, from the other side, as if it had been approaching him from around the corner. Just a tiny speck grew into the cyclops' eye from the metallic monster train again, and it swallowed him and painted him a whitish yellow like the desensitized light that the dentist flashes into the face of a patient to inspect teeth. It retreated like the first time, dragged away by some unknown force. The sounds came again and he felt like weeping.

"_...Thank youthankyou...jes...usss his pupils are finally...dilating...I thought he fuckingoverdosed..." _

That balloon sound came again, like big gusts of wind that roll through an empty desert. Lovino desperately wanted to know what it was and wanted his blindness to lift. He felt fingers skimming over his face and over his hair, nails scrapping and a soft brushing on his cheek.

Lovino finally found a way to tear his mouth open as if it has been there the whole time, ripping it open to let air shakily crawl into his lungs and releasing a trembling, loud moan, like a rusting door being forced open. The air tasted like dust. The hands on his head jerked back as if shocked.

_"...Ah! What the..."_

He wheezed, sputtered, and groaned and the light came back _why does that light keep coming back?_ He turned towards it and reached out for it and flexed his fingers sporadically. Hands were pressed on his chest, but not his own hands. He tried sucking in more air but he choked and the light was still there, just there and hovered over him.

_"Shhh...calm down...LovLovLovino. God...jesusss...calm-...s'okay. S'okay nowww justBREATHE_ _alrrrrready_..._" _

Confused, so confused. Lovino turned his head and someone was behind his shoulders with their arms wrapped around his chest like a vice, behind his neck so that the person's fingers clasped together in a loop around his torso. Everything felt thick, as if he had been submerged into wet cement. He flailed, writhed, wriggled against the sensation and moaned out, _"G'off." _

The fingers dug into the fabric of his clothes, arms tightening like a boa constrictor from their previous looseness.

_"No."_

He'd started to sob, now feeling blankets and a sliver of light forcing him awake. He felt centipedes crawl around inside his stomach and he moaned again. _"Please, PLEASE leggo, g'off please..." _

The arms were now steel, crushing the bones across his shoulders and chest. A violent pressure. He could feel a mouth against the bare skin of his neck and when it opened teeth grazed across his chilled neck. "No."

He whimpered. "It hurts."

The once mighty gust of balloon-air puffed out as a sigh against his cheek. A male's voice, sympathetic, tiny, sad, whispered at him, "I know, I know."

Fingers pet his hair. He blinked slowly, eyelashes sticking together like spider webs. His neck and down to his thighs were covered in sweat, icy and cold, and right below his nose was crusted with mucus. His jeans felt sweltering, too hot and tight. He tried to kick at his pant leg to remove them but he'd forgotten how to use his feet. They twitched and the rest of his legs infected with a numbness only allowed a slight wriggle. From the depths of his throat he let out a _nngh_ that rose out of his mouth with tiny, foaming bubbles of saliva, half dry like glue.

"Where am I?"

Upturned lips shifted to the shell of his ear and he shuddered, a violent shake traveled from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine when a wet appendage poked around the cartilage.

"It's okay, I'm here. I'm going to take care of you."

Lovino felt his toes curl and he breathed heavily, "No, get off, I want to go..."

The lips relaxed and pursed and the hand in his hair continued to stroke down the tresses. The man was holding him down on the bed, holding him down like a captive confused with a lover. It was all so heavy. The lilting voice resounded in his ear in a sincerely regretful tone.

"I wish I could...I wish I could..."

By the time Lovino was no longer numbed and senseless, he had forced himself back into the darkness to delve away from the light.

.

He awoke in the state where his consciousness still lingered between asleep and awake. The room smelled like his grandfather's house. But his grandfather's house during Christmas. When Lovino was small his parents had forced him and his brother to take a trip to his grandfather's for the Christmas holiday. This was before his parents split up, since after that his mother would have nothing to do with her husband's side of the family. It smelled like scented pine cones mimicking the aroma of fresh holly, melted candles and stale coffee.

His grandfather's house was always immaculate but held the warmth of what a home should feel like, especially during the holidays. His grandfather always rambled on how it should smell like Christmas so he'd buy every seasonal candle and scented pine cone the local store owned. And Lovino was so far out of it that he would have considered it a possibility that he was actually there if his grandfather hadn't died when he was fourteen. While laying there, finding himself inhaling deeply through his nose, he was momentarily overwhelmed with melancholic nostalgia, then sadness. The back of his throat ached when he swallowed and his eyes felt puffy.

Lovino let out a small groan and rubbed one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. Even through closed eyelids he could see the light from a large, rectangular window. A ceiling fan breezed air above him.

To his right he could hear the muffled sound of feet shuffling on a wooden floor and he felt himself twitch, startled, sitting up hurriedly and twisting himself toward the noise. The man in front of him held out his hands in a placating manner and gave a mock-surprised exclamation.

"Ah, woah!"

Lovino, wide eyed, clenched the blanket in his fingers.

"What are you doing?" His words came out suspicious and rushed and he felt himself leaning away from the man, trying to understand his brain's sudden urge to _back away._

"Hey, it's okay, calm down," he said, grinning easily. He flexed his fingers outwards then relaxed them. Lovino looked around rapidly.

"Where am I? he asked. Before the other man had a chance to answer, Lovino added more bite to his words and snarled, "And why am I here? Who the fuck are you?"

The man tilted his head and scratched at the back of his neck, skimming his fingers over chocolate curls, and he glanced around awkwardly. "Uhm, how about one at a time, okay?" he muttered. He let his eyes gaze around the room slower than Lovino had, and with his free hand he gestured unnecessarily. "Well, this is my house." Lovino felt his anger simmer, and his eyebrows pinched together in exasperation. This man was an idiot. The other suddenly turned to the doorway where Lovino could see into a hallway and living room. "It's not really that big or anything..."

"And you?" Lovino snapped. He felt a sudden anxiety clutch at his chest and tried to control his voice. "What's your name?"

The man blinked and turned to him again, pulled his hand from his neck and placed his nail into his mouth. Lovino couldn't tell if he was nervous or if it was just some sort of compulsion to occupy his hands. He was grinning again.

"I'm Antonio," the man said. "I'm...pretty sure we'd met last night."

A disturbed, sick sensation slithered down his throat and settled at the bottom of his stomach. He remembered a tongue on his ear and arms around his body and a blinding light. He refrained from moving away again, if only because he felt that if he did Antonio would know that he remembered and it would happen again. "What?"

Antonio gazed down at him on the bed and furrowed his eyebrows, looking confused. "At the bar? Don't you remember?"

Lovino allowed the tenseness to deflate from his body slightly, but still stammered, unsure. "No...I don't remember."

Pursing his lips and swallowing, Antonio actually looked a little disappointed.

"Oh."

A strange silence fell over them where Lovino tried to relax and comprehend his situation. Antonio had settled his gaze to a spot beside Lovino and his face suddenly looked a bit lax, eyes flat and dull. Lovino took this moment to study Antonio. A bar didn't look like the type of place that he would hang around, he was youthful, relaxed, of a medium height, and tanned; a bit more of a starving artist than a bar hopper.

Antonio blinked owlishly and looked up sharply. For a second he looked lost, as if he didn't realize he was standing in his own house. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds then muttered, "Ah, whoops! Sorry, I sort of got lost in my own head there." He smiled sheepishly at Lovino, emitting a short laugh. "So, anyway," he continued, gathering himself and placing his hands down at his sides nonchalantly. "Yeah, we met inside a bar and had a few drinks." He was chuckling, a different sort of laugh than from before. A lower one. "You were wasted."

Lovino poked his tongue at the inside of his cheek, deciding if he should snap at him before settling on a short, nervous laugh. It felt more like a sigh. "I guess I did." He rubbed at his forehead in frustration. "My skull is _killing _me."

All at once, Antonio's eyes grew wide. "Oh, really?" he asked quickly, his voice raising an octave. He leaned in abruptly, as if to touch him, and every one of Lovino's muscles locked up, his fingers straining the fabric of the blanket in his clenched fists. Antonio opened his mouth as if to say something, but ended up catching himself and straightening. With a large intake of breath and a heavy swallow, he backed up.

"I've got some aspirin in the bathroom," he offered amicably. He gestured sloppily behind himself with his thumb, indicating to a closed door across the room. Lovino sat there, astounded, and tried to wrap his head around Antonio's sudden shift in mannerisms. He finally nodded a little and cleared his throat to choke out a thick-sounding, "Yes, uh, please." And when Antonio ambled into the bathroom, Lovino couldn't stop himself from craning his neck to see back out into the living room to see if he could find the door leading out of the house. He was on a ground level house; the window displayed a semi-cut lawn and a thicket of trees. He wasn't planning to leave through the window, it was just a little more secure knowing where the exits were.

Lovino shoved the blanket off himself. He was still dressed in his clothing from last night, and he began to search for his cell phone and wallet, and even dug his hands deep into his pockets a second time when he found them to be completely empty. Even his rosary and the few cents of loose change had been removed.

The nightstand next to his bed held three drawers and Lovino scrambled to the edge of the bed to pull them open. There was a flashlight in the first one, and a Bible and half-empty box of Kleenex resting in the third one. The middle one was bare. Other than the twin sized bed and the nightstand there was literally no other furniture in the room, despite how small it was. He patted down his back pockets even though he never placed anything in them, hoping that he might've moved his stuff there sometime before. He hadn't.

"Oh my God," he breathed, pressing the heels of his hands forcefully against his eyelids, then tugging viciously at his hair as if to pull the migraine out of his skull, and gasping the word _shit _to himself. He felt sick anxiety spread like a disease through his limbs, and he had to take deep breaths to stop himself from hyperventilating. He could vaguely hear that Antonio had turned on the faucet. The sound of water hitting glass reached him and for some unknown reason he didn't like the idea of the other man being so close. For a fleeting moment he thought about just getting up and leaving, but he kept himself rooted to the spot. Lovino slowly removed his hands from his hair.

Antonio returned from the bathroom with a glass of water and three blue and red aspirin in his hands.

"I think this should definitely help!" he mused, tilting his head at the hand that held the pain killers. His voice sounded airy, and Lovino realized for the first time that he had an accent. He lisped lightly and he recalled him rolling his Rs as well, and he emphasized the second syllable of words rather than the first; he sounded Spanish. "Is three going to be okay? The bottle says to take two, but I don't think these are very strong anyway."

Lovino sputtered, shook his head lightly for a moment, then glared up at the man.

"Where's my wallet? And cellphone?" he interrupted, and he could hear his own impatience; his usual rudeness seeping in. "And my car keys?" He made a wild, open armed flail with his arms, gesturing around him, as if referencing to his pockets.

Antonio frowned and cocked his head to the side and tugged in his lip with his teeth. "I'm not sure," he admitted with a heavy shrug. Lovino felt the beginnings of panic start to stab painfully at his middle. Antonio continued, his voice a bit careless, supplying, "They could still be in my car or something."

Lovino stared and opened his mouth slightly, asking what.

Antonio nodded lightly and placed the water and pills on the nightstand.

"Yeah, they might've fell out. When we left the bar I kinda...threw you in the back of my car," He laughed a little, embarrassed. His face went passive and he looked down at the bed, then around the room as if he was uncomfortable. For the second time, Antonio began to bite at his nail, occupying his hands. "I was more than a little drunk, too. I think I might've gotten a little..." he trailed off, shuffling his feet, "..."handsy" on you." With his free hand he pantomimed a groping gesture, flexing his fingers.

Lovino swung his feet over the side of the bed so he was fully facing Antonio. His mouth opened and closed, shocked. Like a fish gasping for its final breath. "_Oh..._"

Antonio didn't move, just sort of stood there, awkwardly squashed between the bed and the window, between this mostly-stranger and the silence. Lovino remembered the hands on his chest and tongue on his ear, and the pang of repulsion that followed it.

Antonio backed up against the window a bit, and shook his head. "I'm really sorry." He shook his hand in a _no _gesture. "I was really smashed, I didn't..." He paused and Lovino felt some of the tension alleviate. "I wouldn't do that on purpose, I swear," He added flatly, "An accident."

Lovino was silent, contemplating if he should rage or not, before he just shook his head with a small breath and said, "You know what? It's fine, I don't remember anything, anyway." Antonio's shoulders suddenly sagged in obvious relief and grinned broadly, all teeth, at him.

"Great, uh, hey...how about I make you some breakfast or..." he paused to pull out his phone and glance at the time. "...or lunch." Lovino began to protest but Antonio stopped him. "Please, it's the least I can do for molesting you."

On the way to the kitchen Lovino looked down the an opposite hallway that led to a second bedroom, slightly larger than the one he'd slept in. The dark curtains were closed. Across from that room was another door that might've led to another bathroom. The short hall that was visible from Lovino's room led to a small living room where a glass coffee table sat in front of a settee sofa with a television set directly across. They walked past the furniture, through a wooden archway and into the adjacent room: the kitchen. Antonio shuffled in his socks across the linoleum before grabbing the handles to the refrigerator. Lovino hopped up onto the island that sat in the middle of the kitchen. Antonio seemed like the kind of person who wouldn't really mind.

He opened the fridge. "So, is there anything you're hungry for? You slept way past anything for breakfast, really..." His fingers skimmed over the red skins of the tomatoes, the first thing his eyes laid on when he looked.

Lovino bowed his head and shrugged. "Eh, I'm not really sure, it doesn't matter." He tapped his lips absentmindedly, staring at Antonio's back. "Antonio?"

He didn't turn around, just shuffled the condiments around on the lower shelf. "Hm?"

Lovino thought his words might've been a little stuck, he had to swallow once, twice, before getting over the nerves and forced out the block with a heavy cough and said, "I'd just like to know...well, I don't remember anything from last night."

Antonio's back went rigid. "You..._don't?_" His head turned slightly as if he was going to look behind him, in Lovino's direction. He stood there for several minutes before slowly closing the fridge door and fully turning. "Well, that's a bit weird. I mean, it's kinda fuzzy, but I still remember."

"I get that," Lovino began, "But I kind of want to know what happened."

Antonio leaned back against the refrigerator. "Uh..." he started, the word coming out as an exhale, "I had gone to the bar, what was it called? The...Velveteen Rabbit or something. I heard it was new, and it was downtown and cut off from the rest of the other downtown bars and restaurants...very nice when you want a good drink without the large, crowding groups..." Antonio noticed he strayed from the topic and quickly refocused. " I saw you just sitting there, looking lonely, so I sat next to you and we talked, but we had a few too many drinks...and you nearly passed out so I decided to bring you back with me." His voice had become sterner, almost harsh. He crossed his arms. "And that's about it." He watched Lovino intensely, as if he might disagree. Lovino turned away and felt he breathing pick up again.

Lovino hardly ever drank so much that he couldn't drive, let alone enough for him to pass out and have some stranger have to take him back to their house. The last time he had gotten even remotely drunk, inebriated to the point where he had trouble remembering certain events from the night before, was on his brother's eighteenth birthday when he'd sneaked him in with his older friends; that was over a year ago. He never partied much when he went to college or joined any fraternity where he might've gone drinking. He wasn't into drug experimentation anymore, that passed along with his college years, so chances that he had gotten completely wasted and passed out on a Tuesday night was slim to none.

Antonio made a tiny advancement towards him, just a small shuffle of his feet, and Lovino tensed his fingers and legs against the counter. He was looking at him with a dull gaze. "I don't know why you're worrying so much," he whispered, "It's not like anything happened..."

Lovino hopped off the counter shakily, attempted to shrug casually. "Hey, uh, thanks for everything and all, but I think I should get going. I've overstayed my welcome and my headache's already clearing up now." He took a small step backwards as Antonio stepped closer. In that moment Lovino could see that Antonio stood above him by several inches, even though Lovino wasn't necessarily short he intimidated no one with his stature.

"No," Antonio ground out. It wasn't angry or cruel. It was firm. "I don't think you should."

"...And why the fuck not?" Lovino snapped, suddenly defensive. He took another step backward and Antonio followed, herding him back towards the hallway they'd come from. The space between them was shrinking, Antonio doubling his steps for every one Lovino attempted to make. He licked at the corner of his lips before coming halfway across his bottom lip, and he reached out to touch Lovino's hand and Lovino recoiled as if his hand was diseased.

"I can't." Antonio tossed his head to the side, hair brushing across pained, sorrowful eyes. Lonely eyes. "You don't understand what it's like..."

With a jolting spasm of terror, Lovino's back hit a wall. His fingers scrambled across the smooth surface hoping for a door, and when he found none he wished that he could sink through the wall's solidity. He straightened his back to the wall to try and get further from Antonio, and he shivered and hissed. "What the _fuck _do you think you're doing?"

Antonio then had his hands pinning Lovino's shoulders to the surface behind him. He tried to claw at the man's hands but found that Antonio hadn't reacted to his nails digging into his skin. All at once Antonio's hip bones were pressing into his lower belly and he was outweighed, outfought. His arms flailed in panicked desperation, trying to reach some place to gouge or scratch, nicking Antonio's cheek right below the eye, but Antonio must have been made out of steel and strength because he got Lovino's hands pinned above his head. Screeching, he tried kicking out his legs, brought up one knee in an attempt to hit the other man in the fork of his legs, but Antonio beat him to it and Lovino gasped and felt as if all the air had left his lungs.

Antonio's face was too close, his cheek coming to press against Lovino's, his mouth at his ear, and Lovino twisted and writhed and jerked beneath his body. He panted and arched his back and letting out a horrified whimper, the movements darkly pseudo-sexual and erotic. The mouth split open and Lovino didn't want it touching him, didn't want it near any of his openings to poke at. He jerked his head away, clenching his eyes shut.

"Let go, let go of me! Please!" he babbled. Fear forcing him to beg. He felt small and weak. "Shit, Antonio, you sick fuck, you bastard, stop!"

The lips were removed from his ear and Antonio had his face pulled back a few inches from Lovino's. Without speaking a word, he leaned forward and pressed his nose into Lovino's cheekbone, his mouth pulled up into a grin against the corner of Lovino's lips. Lovino gasped harshly and twitched and Antonio made a soothing _ssshhh _sound between his teeth.

"Pleh-please, please, Antonio, just let me go," Lovino hiccuped, his voice wavering. "Just stop, stop, stop, just let go." He could still feel the smile at the edge of his mouth and the idea of Antonio kissing him made his stomach churn. Lovino wanted to say _don't touch me, don't touch me, please - oh - please don't rape me, Antonio _but he could no longer get himself to make any proper sounds. The hands against his wrists were crushing. The smell and taste of Antonio's breath lingered against his mouth and he could taste old coffee. This morning...how long had he been awake, been waiting? He suddenly felt too hot and cramped.

The grin finally relaxed, bringing Antonio's expression down like a curtain on a stage. "I can't. I do want to, Lovino, I really want to let you go but I can't..." Then the grin was back and this time accompanied with a short, low laugh. "...No, I lied. I don't want to let you go, Lovino."

Lovino's chest heaved with his shallow, pained breathing and he choked on saliva as he sputtered, not thinking. "Shit, shit...okay, okay! Don't let me go. Just, just please, Antonio, please don't kill me. Please don't hurt me!"

Antonio released another laugh against Lovino's skin. In a dreamy, lulling voice, he murmured, "I'm not going to kill you." He gently exhaled against Lovino's lips. "Unless you try to leave, you can't run away...Lovino, you're mine. I want you. I'm going to _keep _you."

Lovino pulled a cold, dark face and he spat, "You're crazy! You're a goddamn psychopath!"

Antonio shuffled, pressing himself closer to Lovino. "I know." He made a sound that could have been a sob. Or a laugh. "I know. I'm not okay. But that's why you're here, now. You're gonna be messed up with me."

For a few, quick seconds he removed himself from Lovino and his hands, only to twist him around and hold his hands painfully behind his back. He shoved Lovino forward, hard, into the wall as Lovino's arms shook in Antonio's grip. He feared that if his arms shook any harder they might dislocate at the shoulder. He wished he would have taken those few seconds when he was free to try and struggle harder.

"We're going to be so _fucked up_ together!" Antonio led him to one of the counters and opened a drawer. He snaked out a long, thin knife and pressed the tip to Lovino's back. "Okay, so you're going to go where I want you to go _ooorrr_...I'm going to knife you, alright?" Lovino's legs threatened to give out with all his trembling and he momentarily wondered if he'd pissed himself yet. The sharp point of the knife was pressed into the space between his shoulder blades and he imagined Antonio smashing his palm into the back of the knife.

"Come on, let's go now," he commanded cheerily. He nudged Lovino forward with a knuckle on his shoulder, leading him by pushing him in the direction they originally came out of. He was led around the island and back into the hallway.

"It'll be okay, I promise," Antonio soothed, his voice becoming soft suddenly. "I really am sorry about this. I don't want to hurt you. It's just...it's like you said, I'm crazy. I need help."

"We...we can geh-get you help," Lovino gasped. Tears were swiftly welling up in the corners of his eyes and started to swell and spill over, obscuring his vision. He was led into Antonio's bedroom and he felt his throat close up and his heart beat with such anxiety and horror that it hurt. _He's going to rape me he's going to rape me he's going to rape me then kill me and then dismember me and somebody help me! _"Antonio, Antonio! We can get you help, you dumbass, we can get you help!" He was hysterical and wailing and being herded until they stood in front of the wooden closet door. Keeping the blade at Lovino's back, he opened the door. The closet was completely empty.

"Not a chance."

He shoved Lovino forward into the dark closet. He banged his knees against the wall and had no purchase to keep himself up any longer and collapsed on his trembling legs. Lovino heard the door click closed behind him, whipping around and lunging for the knob to find it locked, hatefully locked, he pressed himself into the corner of the one-and-a-half by five foot cage and screamed.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N****: **There are references to Stephen King novels, and I do not claim ownership of any Stephen King novel vaguely mentioned. I'd like to thank everyone for the reviews, alerts, and favorites. It makes me so happy! I hope this chapter isn't too boring, things pick up next chapter. I had a hard time writing this because we had to put our dog down yesterday, and I'm still a bit upset about it.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
III. Chapter 2

When Lovino was about twelve years old he was introduced to his favorite novels when he'd browse the public library's shelves. Stephen King's twisted tales were thick and tedious, each story embellished with their own severely disturbing monsters; and Lovino, being obsessed with fear and finding enjoyment in the passing adrenaline, ate it up one horror at a time.

On the weekends, when his father told him he could stay up as late as he wanted (as long as his mother didn't find out), he'd take two books at a time, one beneath each arm, and pull the covers over his head with a flashlight like a make-shift fort. As shadows danced outside his blanket, he frightened himself with tales of demons in a mist and a man driven to murder by cabin fever and ghosts. While other children up and down the street were reading _Harry_ _Potter _Lovino was reading about Carrie's revenge that ended bloodshed and Annie Wilkes' dangerous obsession with her favorite author. He would have read all night if his mother didn't end up coming in and catching him with a chastisement to follow. They'd argue for several minutes – Lovino, go to bed, no, yes, five more minutes, two more minutes, MOM!, _bed_ – until she bundled him up in his covers and looked forward to when he could delve back into horror. He was strong. He feared nothing.

But sometimes he _would _be afraid. He would push the book off the bed as if it would eat him, leaving the lights on and smothering himself in enough covers that he was sure that nothing could get him; a poor attempt to imitate the illusion of security. A noise outside magnified until he was sure It was there to lure him into the sewers and rip his arm off at the socket. The groaning of his house settling was creatures devouring his family. Shuffling feet was Jack Torrance coming down the hall to chop him into little bits – _Heeere's Johnny! __– _and if he was lucky he'd be able to sneak into his brother's room on his tip-toes before he'd gotten too afraid. If he wasn't, he would have to survive the night alone. His parents never let him sleep in their bed. He was a big boy. He had to sleep by himself.

Lovino was twenty-four now and he no longer scared himself through reading novels of fictional horror. The things that frightened him had evolved from the living dead to financial crisis and recession. He no longer feared maggots in his skin because in the ninth grade he learned in biology that maggots only eat dead matter. Now he worried about nuclear warfare and if his health insurance will cover a doctor's appointment because the cough he's had for a couple weeks isn't getting any better. It's been more than ten years since he's been afraid of shadows and bad guys outside his door.

Fear had felt different when he was a child. Irrational fear. The subconscious knowledge that there was no real danger and in the morning he would wake and his mother would make him toasted bread with olive oil and tomatoes for breakfast then send him off to school. In some deep part of his mind there was indeed safety.

Lovino clawed at the closet door, trying to shake it open, but the handle wasn't even a handle because it wouldn't twist properly and felt like a metal cylinder, immovable. He kicked at it, his back pressed hard against the wall behind him. When it didn't give, he moved back to the corner and grasped his head, clutching it as if it might explode. Somewhere outside the door Antonio was listening to his struggle against the door and Lovino imagined the man sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and staring absentmindedly towards the wall where he was held. With that thought, he turned where he thought the wall lead towards the living room, and slammed his fist against it. _LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!_

He pressed his ear against the wall to listen for any movement, but he heard nothing. No thudding footsteps or sipping of a beverage. It had been so long since he heard anything that he had begun to think that Antonio might not even be in the house at all. He became aware that his pants were warm and with sick humiliation he realized that when he'd been thrown in the closet he had pissed himself. Sweat that was dripping made his eyes sting. His tongue tasted dirty. There was no hope for safety. He couldn't wake himself up in a better place. He was trapped in a hot, dark closet and he couldn't leave.

"I have to get out," he wheezed, getting onto his knees and leaning down to try and peer under the door. The door pressed low to the wooden floor, and a gray sliver of light barely made it in. He tried to slip his fingers underneath. It was too tight. Panic and frustration welled up inside of him and he released it in the form of a lamenting growl. Biting his knuckle he tried to squish himself in the back corner, attempting to create more space to breathe; but he couldn't even stretch out his legs without his feet hitting the opposite wall and bending at the knees. The space was slightly shorter, but just as wide, as a coffin. It smelled like dust.

He felt around the space again, outstretching his arms, flexing his fingers, around the walls, feeling oddly apprehensive about exposing himself to the darkness. He remembered again the fear he harbored as a child and likened it to what he felt now; with the absence of sight it felt like a monster could reach around and tear into him. With a pang of fear he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, the heat around him felt like a heartbeat behind his skin.

Some time must have passed because Lovino's throat had become like sandpaper, dry and tight. His face was damp from crying and the small part of him that still retained pride was glad that no one he knew saw him sobbing like a baby. There was no telling how long he'd been locked up and he assumed that it was just a very long time (or it could have been no more than an hour) judging by how thirsty he had become. He tried to think of anything else, but there wasn't anything else to think about.

At some point he must have fallen asleep because soon enough he was dreaming. He dreamt that he was married to Antonio and the two of them were sitting in the living room together. The television was off, but they were pretending to watch it anyway. Lovino turned, and Antonio kissed him. In one abrupt moment Lovino vomited, acrid and vile, onto Antonio's jeans and the glass coffee table. He turned away and picked up a novel on the settee's arm, titled _Misery, _resting his feet on the back of their dog, which was sleeping soundlessly in front of the settee.

.

The only reason Lovino awoke was because his foot was moving. In his bleary mind, it was the dog beneath his feet; it was nudging his foot with its nose. Vomit still dripping down his chin. But it nudged his foot again and he emerged from sleep. His eyes were glued together by gunk. The closet door was open.

Antonio was nudging his foot, which had originally been against the door and had slid out into the bedroom when it was opened. He bumped it only softly as if he wasn't sure if he might be deciding whether he really wanted to wake him up or keep him asleep. Lovino pried his eyes open and looked up at the other man. Antonio was clad in in casual clothing, green sweatshirt a bit loose and dark jeans a bit too tight. His hands were playing with his sleeve and his eyes were somber and acidic.

Lovino found himself making a strange noise with his sticky mouth and dry tongue. "_Nyugh?_" Sweat rolled down the edge of his nose.

Antonio bit down on his lips and looked off to the side. He stood there for a moment without a word, then turned and picked up a bundle of clothes off the bed in front of the closet. On bent arms he held out the pile. His voice was soft and friendly. "I brought you some clothes," he breathed, and it was shaky. "I'm not really sure if they'll fit or not." Lovino wasn't sure if he should move or not.

"...How long have I been sleeping?" Lovino whispered, his throat so dry that he couldn't increase the volume of his voice.

"A couple of hours." His voice was thoughtful. He turned and placed the clothing back on the bed. Turning to Lovino, but not looking at him, he said, "You can put them on if you like, or not. I'll be in the kitchen if you...want to come talk to me."

Lovino stretched out his legs, his muscles tight like coils, and he tried to blink the stickiness from his eyes. Antonio halted at the doorway to the bedroom, his dark hand gripping the door frame.

"I'm very sorry."

He left. The door shut behind him. Lovino sat in the closet for a while, waiting until he could hear the footsteps had made it all the way to the kitchen. There was a low squeal of a chair being pulled out and he could tell that Antonio had taken a seat at the kitchen table. He still didn't want to move and now felt more secure knowing where the other man was and that he wasn't moving. The smell of his own urine made him get up and change.

Antonio had brought him a maroon button down shirt, a pair of slightly too long jeans, some black socks, and even a pair of boxer shorts. Lovino picked them up hesitantly and examined them, holding them between his thumb and forefinger, unsure if Antonio had ever worn them before and bothered by the idea. They looked clean, and either way he was currently stewing in his own urine so it didn't leave him much choice. He changed, and found the clothes to fit pretty well, and he stood in front of the bedroom door. Through mostly closed blinds, evening dusk painted the room with watery reds and dewy grays. It looked like it might have rained. In a last ditched attempt, he checked the large window to see if it would open, but found that Antonio had a series of disturbingly, evenly placed nails holding it shut permanently. Breaking it wasn't an option. If the man could pin him against a wall and lock him in a closet for some odd hours then he could chase him down. Maybe he was expecting it. Maybe he was waiting.

Lovino moved back to the door and opened it slowly, feeling vulnerable on every inch of his body and half petrified that Antonio was hiding around a corner with the same knife as before, or a larger one, just waiting to stab him. He turned around the corner and moved down the hall, into the living room where he glanced around for the front entrance. Beyond the couch and television was a wide area where it extended past a jutting wall, some sort of foyer, and partial view of a door was visible. He shuffled into the kitchen where a faint, orange light hung over the kitchen table. Antonio heard him walk in, looked up, then quickly looked down. He had his hands folded. Lovino stopped several feet away, halting around where the island began. His socked feet slid a bit on the linoleum floor.

Lovino didn't want to talk to him. He wanted to leave. He fixed a weak glare at Antonio and swallowing uselessly to try and wet his sandpaper throat. Antonio finally glanced up at him again, this time holding his gaze for a few seconds.

"Hi..." he began. Gently and kindly. There was a bit of silence. "You can sit down if you want."

Lovino didn't know if he wanted to. The kitchen table was small and he didn't want Antonio sitting across from him so closely; if he was hiding a knife under the table he could easily reach out and strike him. Simultaneously, if he didn't sit down it could also lead to something violent. Part of him chanted, screamed _run now, run NOW _but he didn't want to risk it if the door was locked and he didn't have enough time to try and break a window. Lovino's thoughts came to a sudden stop when Antonio dropped his head to the table, carding his fingers into his hair.

"I don't know what to tell you," he mumbled in a quiet voice, and Lovino felt like charging at him. Not because of what he said or what he meant, but how he said it. In this quiet, might-be-sad tone that meant he maybe felt guilty for locking a stranger in a tiny closet for a day with his own piss. Lovino stumbled forward a couple of inches and he could feel the disbelief, the anger crawl onto his face.

"You don't know what to _tell me?_" he snarled darkly, his voice coming out louder than he imagined it would. With the lack of water, it was like his voice was rubbing directly on bark. "You _don't know what to tell me?!_" Antonio looked up with a blank look in his eyes as Lovino raged on.

"You...you locked me in a _fucking_ closet!" he shrilled, steadying himself with one hand on the island and the other gesturing at himself. "You've threatened my life, you piece of shit, you attacked me! You told me you were going to _stab me!_...Are you?!" Antonio stood up, with his palms pressed heavily into the kitchen table. Lovino shivered with a pulse of fear. With the evening sky bleeding eerily into the kitchen, Antonio looked like he was drenched in red and made of shadows.

"No...I won't..."

He paused, then opened his mouth as if to say something else, but Lovino interrupted.

"Unless I try to leave."

Antonio nodded.

Lovino took a swift step backward. "What...what if I try to leave anyway, fucker? Hm?" he asked in a voice that lacked the right anger and authority he temporarily had moments ago. "And you can't catch me? What do you do then?"

Still looking guilty and harmless, Antonio mumbled, as if to himself, "You won't try, though."

A pang of aggression surged through Lovino's veins and his lip curled back in obvious contempt. "What? Why won't I try? I..." he looked back into the living room, trying to see the partial door. Even if he made a run for it, Antonio was too close within reaching distance for him to get very far. "What makes you think that I won't go out a window? Or leave through the front door when you're sleeping?"

"You haven't left _yet,_" he voiced simply. "I left you in that room alone, when I had given you the clothes. You could've locked the door and broken the window easily. I know you thought about it. There was a lamp in there, or the nightstand, and you could have thrown it and jumped out the window and ran. But you _didn't._" Antonio grinned, and watching, Lovino thought that it must have been the darkness against the other man's face that made him look like a devil. "You came out. To see me. You knew I could have killed you. Did you think about it when you were alone there? I could kill you now, but I won't. You _know _I could kill you now."

He stepped away from the kitchen table, and Lovino's legs seized up. There would be nowhere to run. Maybe to the bedroom and lock the door, but Antonio could break it down or go around to the window. There was nowhere to run.

"I figured that if you got away when I left you alone, you deserved to. And eventually I would catch you. But if you stayed here...you deserved to stay."

Antonio moved forward a bit, and the growing shadows cast across his face. Lovino couldn't see his eyes. Just emptiness. "You're...I'm not sure how I should say it...precious? Yes, you're precious to me. That's what you are."

"Lovino stepped back until his back hit the handle of the refrigerator. "I'm not fucking precious to you," he gasped, his voice now unable to grow more than a whisper. "You don't even _know _me. How could I mean anything to you? I have people who love me, I _have _to get back to them!"

"No, you don't," Antonio said, and his smile suddenly showed too many teeth. "You live alone."

"I live with my grandfather." he bluffed.

"You go to a university. Your student ID was in your wallet."

"I dropped out." That part was honest.

"Then you are living alone," Antonio ground out forcefully. "If you had a partner or a friend or whatever you wouldn't have been by _yourself _at a bar."

"...Roommate. I have a roommate."

Even though Lovino couldn't see his eyes, he watched Antonio make a movement as if he was rolling his eyes, letting out an amused snort of laughter. "Nice try, it was cute."

Lovino could no longer swallow properly. He dropped his gaze to the floor. His shoulders shook with anxiety that timed with the chattering of his teeth. Now the air was too cold, and the sweat that gathered on his arms, neck, face dried chillingly. "What now, then?" he asked bitterly, "What the hell are you going to do now?"

Placing his finger to his mouth in a thinking gesture, his face lit up like he'd been struck with the answers to life and humanity's purpose; Antonio responded with a grin, "I think you should take a shower! I can clean out the closet since it kinda seems like you made a mess in there." He laughed, as if Lovino was a puppy that didn't know any better.

Lovino could still feel where urine had dried at his legs a groin. Sweat stuck under his arms and beaded his hairline. _"...Okay, then._"

"Okay, then!" Antonio sounded surprised that he agreed, as if he hadn't been expecting any other answer. "Come one, I'll show you where the bathroom is."

Antonio walked away from his place at the table and approached Lovino. He stopped in front of the other man, who had shrunk back harshly, and gently wrapped his fingers around Lovino's wrist. "Really, you should relax. I won't...bite."

He was lead to the bathroom next to Antonio's room, looking simple and ordinary and normal. A bathtub sat against the right side of the square space, a white porcelain sink to the left, a cabinet above that. There were no windows. The walls were painted a faint green. They both stood in front of the open door for several seconds.

"There's plenty of towels in the cabinet over there," Antonio supplied. "And to turn on the shower you have to pull the handle really hard, and to get the hot water you just need to turn it to the _H_, y'know?"

Lovino nodded slightly. "Okay." His legs were still trembling and he found it difficult to stand.

Antonio held onto Lovino's wrist. Not tight, but just as if he didn't want to let go. "When you're done, we can talk..._properly _if you want." Lovino wanted to grab him by his collar and shake him. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to go home. "I just think...no, I know that you should know some things." Antonio released Lovino's wrist, his fingers gliding down the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry about all this."

Lovino stepped into the bathroom, then turned around to look at Antonio. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

.

Lovino hadn't realized how dirty he was until presented the opportunity to get clean. As soon as the shower was turned on and the glass mirror above the sink began to fog over with steam he could feel himself actually getting cleansed. He tried to speculate how much time had passed. It was almost completely dark when Antonio led to him the bathroom. It had been morning when he was put in the closet. Seven hours? Ten? _Twelve_? And Antonio had been either very silent or not in the house.

He turned up the heat for the water. It didn't matter where Antonio had been because he didn't let him out. Lovino's headache was back. There really was no hope.

After stepping out of the shower, feeling as though he'd peeled off a second skin, he dried himself off with a huge, fluffy blue towel, he dressed himself, his mood improved tenfold. But he was still trembling, still desperate for water (catching the water from the shower in his mouth wasn't very satisfying), still wary of Antonio's rapid changes in mood, and newly hungry. He bent down over the sink and drank from the faucet. At least he'd solved one discomfort.

He cautiously left the bathroom, feeling that shivering sensation that he was exposed, fragile. He could hear Antonio in the kitchen, the sound of metal on metal clinking together. Knowing his location helped lessen the anxiety in a small dose. It alleviated the fear of being pounced on or stabbed suddenly. In the kitchen, Antonio was back at the table stirring what smelled like tea with a spoon, a look on his face that was either bored or thoughtful; Lovino was having a hard time discerning between Antonio's facial expressions. Another mug sat at the opposite end of the table, along with a half used bottle of honey and a tiny bowl of sugar. Two aspirin sat beside the beverage.

"I made some tea," Antonio said in a light voice, lips pulled upward in a disarming smile. He clutched his own mug tightly, as if nervous. "I also brought you some aspirin, I'm sure your head still hurts and it would be a good idea to take them." There was a pause. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

With lead feet and a sickness dwelling in the pit of his stomach, Lovino approached the table. "Fine, I will." He gently lowered himself into the seat opposite of Antonio, the distance between them shortened to only about one and a half feet. He scooped up the pills and popped them in his mouth, swallowing it down with dark tea. The strange feeling of being treated more like a guest than a hostage crept up his spine, and despite the fact that is was more comfortable, it made him feel uncomfortable. A paradox of feelings. He wanted it desperately to go away. Antonio swayed in his seat inconspicuously while Lovino sweetened his drink.

"I'm not going to thank you," he whispered childishly. Antonio nodded, looking amused.

After several halting inhales and exhales, Antonio opening his mouth only to close it, finally began, "I really don't want there to be any trouble, and I definitely don't want you to be upset or angry. I don't want you uncomfortable or scared. I just don't want you to run away." He played with the spoon still in his tea, tracing it around the rim of his mug with his fingers. "...And you probably don't believe me, but I hate what I did. What I'm doing. But I just _can't _let you go." He smiled as if he expected Lovino to understand.

"We...could've been friends," Lovino breathed, looking down unhappily into his tea. He didn't make friends easily. And this man seemed like he'd annoy him more than anything. He was bluffing. He glanced up quickly, nervously, trying to harden his face with a withering look. "You don't have to do this...whatever the fuck you're doing." He turned his glare to the wall.

Antonio seemed aware of the building tension and kept his voice soft and inoffensive. "You don't know me, though. I get jealous. I get more jealous than..." he paused, "...you can't imagine."

Lovino didn't know if he was asking because he truly cared or not or if it was just an attempt to keep Antonio calm, but he questioned, "Why?"

Antonio folded his hands and sighed through his nose. Thinking, maybe. The wait between persons was not uncomfortable, it should have been, Lovino realized with a jolt, but it wasn't. There was something terrifying about that. Antonio suddenly cracked his knuckles and said, "I don't know." His voice was flat, traces of a grin gone. That was the end.

In a moment of curiosity, Lovino asked something that he'd been wondering about since he first saw Antonio (or first remembered seeing him, if Antonio's accusations that they had met the night before Lovino woke up were true). Keeping his gaze to the wall, he asked, "How old are you?"

Antonio looked confused by the question, and scratched his cheek with his index finger. "I'm twenty-six."

Lovino was shocked. Antonio had his own home, a car, and two fistfuls of mental problems. And while his face was youthful, his mind seemed to be ageless. It took him mere seconds to switch between his adult insanity to almost child-like kindness. Being only two years older than Lovino, he found the idea odd that he seemed so old. He was probably severely bipolar, Lovino thought. Or schizophrenic. Or maybe there wasn't even a name for what he was and he was just insane. He decided that he wanted to push the conversation in a different direction with another question.

"Do you do anything useful? Like...work?" he continued.

Antonio's eyebrows lifted at the middle, looking a bit sad and a little awkward, embarrassed. "That's where I had been all day." Lovino said _oh _and distracted himself with a sip of tea just so he felt like he was doing something. Antonio went on, "I work at an art supplies shop. And sometimes I sell my paintings. Just for some side money."

"That's...really interesting." Lovino said distantly. An art shop meant there was a town nearby. Maybe close enough to run to and get help.

Antonio shrugged, "I guess so. I only work one job, and it doesn't even pay that well. That's why my house is so small." He laughed as if he'd told a joke, looking around the kitchen as if to reassure himself that it was still the same size he remembered it being and mimicked Lovino's action of sipping his tea. He suddenly looked unsatisfied. "Could be a lot worse, though. Could be even smaller."

Lovino felt his heart beating erratically, a pressure in his own head, as if everything was becoming too tight. He wasn't thirsty anymore. The tea tasted too sugary. Antonio pulled out his cellphone and looked at the time. "Well, it's getting pretty late and I think we both could use some good sleep." That was something he could willingly agree with.

Antonio swiftly stood and was at Lovino's side. He couldn't help but flinch at the close proximity. "Are you done with your tea?" he asked. Lovino nodded and told him he was. Antonio made quick work of putting the mugs in the sink and mumbling about washing them later, placing the honey and sugar back into one of the cabinets. Lovino stood up and made to walk down the wall, toward the direction of the bedroom he had woken in earlier that day.

"Hey, wait a minute," Antonio interrupted, and Lovino stopped dead in his tracks. He half turned and asked what. Antonio leaned his back against the counter and arms folded across his chest, grinning as if he was barely containing a humorous punchline to a joke. "You honestly don't think I'm going to let you sleep by yourself?" Lovino went rigid, _please don't make me sleep in his bed. God, if there is a God, please. _"I may not be the smartest person, but I know I'm not stupid. You'll figure out how to leave. I need to keep an eye one you. At least for tonight, and probably for the next few nights. Until we can establish some trust." His grin dimmed to something soft, just a little, as if he were doing something kind and not horribly disturbing.

Antonio gripped his wrist once more and led Lovino to his bedroom. Nervousness, dread, panic began to brew within him somewhere and he wanted to scream like a child throwing a tantrum. He kept his mouth shut, his chest heaving and back like a wooden board and his legs almost too weak to carry his weight. But Antonio didn't take him to his bed like Lovino had expected. He took him back to the closet. Lovino jerked, reeling backwards, tugging rapidly against Antonio's grip.

"I can't go back in there! Don't make me go back in there!" he protested, trying hard to keep his voice low, to keep calm, trying to keep himself from screaming.

"Don't worry, I cleaned everything out," Antonio attempted to placate him, moving behind him and pushing him forward with his hands clenching his shoulder blades. Lovino twisted violently, wanting to move away, but Antonio grabbed his arm with a bruising grip, his fingers like steel. Irritation leaked into his voice, "Come on, now. Don't be such a child. I slept in the closet a lot when I was a kid."

_And look how well you turned out, you psychotic bastard, _Lovino thought frantically. Antonio finally pushed him into the back of the closet and slammed the door shut. There was a clicking sound as the door was shut and locked which didn't make sense to Lovino because from inside where the door handle was didn't even look like a door handle. For the second time that day, Lovino was a child again, pounding at the door and kicking the wood, screaming. Antonio was against the door, saying, "Please, just calm down! You've already slept once in there, I'm sure you can do it again." His footsteps moved away from the door and there was creaking as he laid on the bed.

"Antonio, please, please let me out, I won't run away! I promise." he begged. He started to hyperventilate. Dust was clinging to his skin, inside his lungs, stinging his eyes. Antonio didn't answer. He could probably stay up all night listening to Lovino struggle in the closet. "You sick fuck, you're sick...let me go..." he broke off with a dry sob, tears barely pricking his eyes.

Lovino sat back into the familiar corner. He tried to control his breathing, the churning thoughts of _I have to get out of here _swam into his head. It smelled like some sort of cleaner now. A few more controlled breaths passed through him and his lungs didn't feel so panicked. Just shaken.

After awhile he took off the pair of jeans, the denim uncomfortable against his sweating legs. The space was warm, not nearly as sweltering as it was before. He could hear Antonio breathing. He entertained the thought of continuously pounding on the door to keep him awake, but the idea of Antonio holding him down and stabbing him repeatedly ceased it almost immediately. It was hard to tell if he was even awake or not. He supposed that it didn't really matter.

Eventually Lovino just fell asleep. In the small, warm place he slept curled, with his knees to his chest, like a child afraid of the dark, but without the promise of safety in the morning.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N****: **This is late, I'm sorry, but I was in the process of getting a beta and being a little lazy. I'd like to thank everyone for their reviews, favorites and alerts, they make me smile.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language, violence, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
IIII. Chapter 3

There was a gentle tapping at the door. "Lovino?"

From beneath the door Lovino could see dim light, artificial or natural he wasn't completely sure. His visibility was limited to the slim sliver that barely peaked from underneath the door. The shadows of Antonio's feet made blocks of darkness in the otherwise solid stream of light. Lovino had actually been awake for several minutes; not awoken by Antonio's knuckles on the door but by the soft sounds of the bed creaking, the lamp clinking on, the dressers opening and closing. He made some indistinguishable, grainy sound of acknowledgment, his back rigid and stiff from being propped against the sharp angle where two walls met. Forcing his back erect in a weak attempt to stretch some of the painfully tight muscles, Lovino felt like someone had placed steel rods where the rope-like muscles of his back had been.

"I was just wondering if you'd like some breakfast," Antonio said. Lovino furrowed his eyebrows in the empty darkness, feeling as if his pupils were the size of nickles.

"What time is it?" he asked in an irritated groan. His head felt hazy and his eyelids felt heavy. Despite the wall against his back, he had slept pretty deeply. Hugging his knees, he suddenly wished he could sleep again so maybe he could forget where he was or wake up somewhere else.

"It's about quarter to five." There was a clicking noise. "I unlocked the door so you can come out and eat if you want." He opened the door slightly so Lovino could push it open. Due to the lack of a proper knob on his side he couldn't open it himself. Lovino found that the lock was a sort of extra precaution; it kept the door secured even if he somehow found a way to push out the other side of the handle. The fact that all the little details had been carefully plotted was concerning; more so was the fact that Lovino couldn't figure out if the lock had been there before or after he arrived.

He nudged the door open with his foot, light squeezing his pupils miniscule. For a moment, he was rendered completely blind by the harsh introduction of light and he stumbled clumsily onto Antonio's carpet. The air was cool and comfortable, opening his lungs as if they'd been padlocked shut. Antonio had left and was now audibly shuffling through something in the kitchen. Lovino pulled on his jeans, which had been crammed into a crumpled mess down by his feet. It occurred to him that the only places he'd seen the man were the bedrooms and kitchen. He vaguely wondered if he'd ever get the chance to actually make it to the living room.

In the kitchen, Antonio was taking down boxes of cereal from a pantry. He opened one, smelled inside it, and pulled a face, crinkling his misleading, disarming features, before spitting out an astonished _yuck!_ and tossing the box haphazardly across the table until it almost toppled over the edge. Lovino shuffled begrudgingly to the island and leaned against it, rubbing his eyes.

"Why the fuck are we up so early?" he snarled, wincing at the light that came from the bulbs above the table. It took a second before Lovino realized he used the word _we _and wished he could take it back so he could swallow it.

Antonio put a second box of cereal on the table, looking accomplished and grinning. "I have work this morning," he explained airily. Then he grumbled to himself, "Got the early shift... " He closed the pantry and made his way towards the fridge, possibly for milk. "I was thinking that you might wanna eat something before I go since I know you haven't eaten for awhile." After placing the milk on the table he went to the other side for bowls. He had a sad look on his face. "I won't be able to let you out again for a bit."

Lovino was shocked and shouldn't have been. Still, he couldn't stop his heart from beating quicker and his sweat chilled. "Goddammit, you don't have to do that!" Lovino argued, and it was mostly out of fear, although his voice managed to sound angry. Antonio looked exasperated, and replied with a sigh.

"Well, that's what you say but I know that if I leave, so will you. And this time I won't be here to hear the window break or you picking a lock or something, so it's not like I really have much of a choice, now do I?" He poured milk into two plastic bowls. "All I have is Raisin Bran, is that okay with you?" It didn't really make a difference if it was okay or not, Lovino knew, because Antonio controlled everything. With an even heavier depression than he had begun the day with, he took a seat at the table to eat. It didn't help that he hated Raisin Bran.

With distaste, he began pouring a bowl of cereal, and asked, "How long will you be gone?" He stirred around the substance, moistening it with milk. He found himself biting his lip and thinking of rotting away in that godforsaken closet. "...You were gone for a long time yesterday."

"Oh, yeah, I know." Antonio agreed in a voice that suggested he wished he hadn't been. Lovino speculated that it wasn't because he actually felt guilty about where he'd left him and for how long, but because he wasn't there to be with him. Maybe even not to watch, but to simply _enjoy _the togetherness. The other man looked up from his cereal suddenly and announced, "Oh! But my shift is shorter today so I'll be home around twelve-thirty!"

So only six hours alone in the dark. _If only everyone was this lucky,_ Lovino thought darkly.

Breakfast was rushed (Antonio had to be at the shop by six-fifteen so he could open it) and the experience was altogether satisfying; since it had been at least twenty-four hours since he'd eaten anything, Lovino's stomach churned on the cereal and the blistering headache he was, unfortunately, getting accustomed to waking up with was finally dissipating. Antonio scooped up their dishes and plopped them in the sink, and Lovino could feel the beginnings of a habit forming when he waited by Antonio's bedroom before the man could have even told him to move.

"Ah, hold on!" Lovino interjected loudly, condescendingly as Antonio started for the door. "You think it'd be too much trouble to at least let me have water or something? It's fucking barbaric enough that I have to wait in the closet, but you're not that much of a heartless bastard, right?" He turned and presented his captor with a nasty look before seeing a strange hurt flicker across Antonio's features. He suddenly felt guilty for asking. It scared him. "It's just ... it's a fucking furnace in there and I got kinda thirsty last time..." One of his hands found the back of his head and he found himself twiddling the strands of air in between his fingers. But Antonio didn't say no; instead he grabbed a plastic bottle full of cold water and let Lovino bring it into the closet with him. They even sort of said goodbye to each other before he left.

"Be careful not to drink too much water," Antonio warned softly before he closed the door. "I won't be here to let you out if you need the bathroom." Lovino mumbled okay and began to contemptuously look forward to a day of nothingness. "Well, goodbye then." He smiled sweetly and, despite himself, Lovino found himself holding back a grin that had sneaked its way onto his face. This terrified him; he didn't even smile at his own brother.

The door closed and locked and the footsteps disappeared. Somewhere in the living room he heard a door slam shut. Lovino swished the water around in the bottle, grateful for the noise. He found himself wondering if Antonio ever thought about him while he was at work. Maybe he wondered how he was doing when he organized oil paint and canvases, or maybe there was a certain customer he resembled and if they were to stop by Antonio's heart would leap into his throat and he would wish he could rush home. Lovino situated himself into a laying position, wishing desperately for a pillow. It was early; maybe he could still go to sleep. He closed his eyes and laid his head on his hands. Maybe it wasn't even that bad.

He drifted to sleep wondering how he could think that.

.

Antonio came home a little bit later than noon, just like he said. Lovino had fallen asleep but only stayed asleep for a little more than an hour after dreaming that the house had caught fire and he couldn't get out of the closet. The rest of the time he spent replaying songs he liked in his head and trying to count imaginary things in an attempt to pass time. He drank the rest of the water and found himself getting hungry again. Maybe at some point he'd eventually gain some sort of equilibrium, but until then his mind and body were both completely out of it. After ordering pizza for lunch Antonio asked him if he wanted more aspirin and Lovino said no. Some part of him felt like it was asking for too much.

"We can sit down in the living room if you want," Antonio offered amicably. He frowned, looking concerned, and said, "You look exhausted. Did you sleep last night? Or while I was gone?"

"Yeah," Lovino answered. The skin on his face felt too loose. "I slept a lot, actually. I'm just … really damn tired for some reason." As if he didn't have a reason for being tired. It was almost laughable. Antonio gestured towards the living room, accessible through the kitchen, and sat him down on the settee. Sitting there, in comparison to the hard chair at the kitchen table or the uncomfortable wooden floor of the closet, was like resting on a cloud. Antonio grabbed the remote control off of the coffee table and clicked on the television. It was mostly just for background noise; Lovino was now some of the closest he'd ever consensually been to Antonio, and it was all he could think about was the mere inches that separated them.

Antonio sat stiffly on the settee. "I know this place isn't … ideal for you," he began, twisting, twiddling, tugging at his fingers and conscious of the awkward silence. "But I'm really trying to make this work. I'm trying my best … for- for you, I mean."

There was a sudden warmth, an abstract comfort, in the pit of Lovino's middle. As the feeling spread like a fungus over wet logs and old stones, he breathed out the words, "_I know._" A foreign smile crept across his face and he bit down violently to try and hold it back. Whether Antonio saw it or not he didn't know, but he prayed to God that he hadn't. In the back of his head he reasoned that it was because he couldn't stand the thought of Antonio knowing he was a source of brief pleasure for him. It wasn't out of pride; it was out of something else, just not something he recognized.

Further away, on the other side of the room, the doorbell chimed and Lovino became aware of the door to the outside. Antonio stood to answer it and had even wordlessly, easily reached out for the bronze-colored knob when he went completely rigid, stiffening as if his muscles had seized up. Everything became stone, as if he had simply become filled from his taut back to his scalp with solidity.

He spoke as if he was fragile; as if he might just crack and break if he let his voice get too loud.

"Don't you say _anything_."

It sounded like his voice was about to overtake his body, like it was a snake that might burst out of his chest or an enormous beast that might replace his bones and slip into his skin and violently beat Lovino to death.

"If he looks at you, you look away. If he speaks to you, you say nothing. If you make any sign that you are afraid, I will lock you away. And when I let you out, I will stab you in the face."

Sickness and anxiety leaped up Lovino's throat, his arms and legs became a mess of shaking nerves. His brain told him to scream for help, to get up and maybe try to run past him, but common sense tightened his muscles into knots and glued his lips together. A part of him whispered, _he can't take you both. Call for help and RUN, he'll help you. Grab something from the kitchen while he's dealing with the other guy and GET THE HELL OUT. _

But he thought, yes, he can. Yes, he will. Be quiet. It's almost over.

Antonio twisted the doorknob and Lovino feared so badly that his voice would suddenly fling itself from his chest and he would cry _HELP ME, HELP ME! HE'S FUCKING CRAZY, HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP ME!_ For whatever reason, the horror made him remember once standing on a balcony of a tall building, afraid that in some odd spasm he might accidentally hurl himself down onto the pavement. The membrane keeping his mind plastered down to his body had ruptured. Stability floated away like the tiny embers of a fire or flakes of snow.

There was another series of knocks at the door – they were a little more rushed (_Hey didja forget about me I'm delivering your pizza, here) – _and Antonio seemed to melt inside his skin. He changed, morphing from a violent schizophrenic to a kind stranger at the door in the span of about five seconds. He smiled and paid for their lunch; he even asked the teen how he was doing. _Smiling smiling- Yes, I'm having a great day- Why thank you, yes- smiling- Goodbye_. Lovino's body shook like he was standing in an icy freezer.

Antonio set down the box of pizza, along with a liter of black Coke, on the oblong, glass coffee table. He plopped down beside Lovino as if he was as light as a feather. Grinning. Opening the cardboard box, he nudged Lovino's arm gently with his elbow. "C'mon, you must be starving."

Lovino didn't want to eat. If he did, he might throw it back up. Antonio ate with edacity, plucking off a thin piece of black and red pepperoni and crunched the fried meat between his molars.

"What's the matter?" he asked in a half-concerned voice as if he assumed whatever issue Lovino was having must have been somewhat petty. There was nothing to be afraid of in Antonio's head. Life was perfect. Lovino still didn't move, and he felt that if he did he might disassociate Antonio from his own contentment. Antonio continued, "You're not eating."

Lovino breathed heavily and his body seemed to settle back into place, not nearly like cracking glass anymore. "I'm not feeling too good."

Antonio wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, chewed slowly, then swallowed. His eyes were passive. "I know what's wrong," he said jovially. He set down his lunch and turned towards Lovino.

"It's because I'm not giving you freedom," he began in a flat voice, all traces of happiness gone. Lovino only glared, aggravated because Antonio was only half right. "You want me to let you outside and … you wanna not sleep in the closet during the day. And you want me to not … hurt you …" He turned his gaze to the ground and balled his hands into the fabric of his jeans. Something warm left Lovino as he breathed outward, and he sucked in something cold and flat when he breathed inward.

"I haven't hurt you yet," he began almost desperately. "Even though sometimes I want to. I _really _want to. When I heard you screaming in the closet yesterday I just wanted to kill you. Or cut you. I wanted to make you _be quiet_." A part of him lost his self-control and a shudder traveled up and down his spine like electricity. "I even told you that I slept in closets a lot when I was a kid. I did. I meant it! Sometimes my dad would put me in there and he'd say- he'd say through the door- … _Your mother wanted a girl, Antonio. But you're a boy, aren't you? So act like one – boys aren't scared of the dark!_" He suddenly clutched his hair tightly, gritting his teeth and letting out a low keening sound.

"He loved my mom and my mom wanted a _girl _so there wasn't any room for _me,_ he never came to any of my parent-teacher conferences and he never let me stay home when I was sick because then _mom _might get sick." Antonio clawed his fingers harshly through his curls, digging his nails in the skin of his scalp deeply. His body heaved with a dry sob. "Even when I threw up."

Lovino was afraid to move away in fear that Antonio would feel the shifting wight and break down completely. The idea that maybe he should try to console the other man occurred to him, but he didn't extend his hand to touch Antonio's shoulder or to stroke his arm. He didn't know how to treat him. He kept his fingers to himself as if Antonio might bite them off.

"I never got to see her because he always put me in the closet when she ca-came out of her room. Like I was sick or ugly or so-something," he fumbled over his words. His voice suddenly became low and animalistic. "I hate him for that. I _hate _him. I want to shut him up, I want to not be so jealous of everyone who has someone because of him. I want to _kill _him!" He snarled. "I want to _kill _him for taking away my mom and my friends! I want to kill _EVERYONE!_"

Lovino hesitantly reached out to touch Antonio's arm, praying it would calm him down, and said in the softest voice he could, "H-hey, Antonio … it's okay, it'll be ok-"

The words on the edge of his tongue were cut short by Antonio's knuckles colliding into his cheek and nose. He spun off the settee and gripped the edge of the coffee table to try and ease his landing on the wooden floor. Antonio stood up behind him and made a rough groaning noise, similar to what Lovino imagined an angry bear sounded like. He tried to drag himself forward, his fingers too slick with sweat and just ended up scrambling uselessly, before Antonio stepped onto his lower back to keep him still. Blood dripped from Lovino's nose onto the floor, he didn't realize he'd smeared it across the wood with his struggling.

Antonio knelt down, pressing his knee between Lovino's shoulder blades. He gripped the other man by his hair and pulled his head up.

"You want to leave?" he asked in a dangerous, shaky voice. "You wanna leave me alone, don't you?" He untangled his fingers from Lovino's hair and Lovino tried to shake his head, but Antonio exclaimed, "You're _lying!_" He stepped off of Lovino's back and thundered around the coffee table. Lovino tried to shrink away, the warmth of his own blood dripping down his face and gathering in the fibers of his shirt, but Antonio seized him by the collar like a man punishing a dog and dragged him into the kitchen. He kicked viciously at the linoleum and dug and clawed into Antonio's hand, but he was pulled across the tiles to the side of the island facing the counters and drawers. For a moment Lovino thought Antonio was going to let go in order to look through the drawer, but he held tightly onto the cloth, single-handedly opening the drawer and searching through the silverware.

With a burst of strength, Lovino managed to tug himself out of Antonio's grasp, the fingers coming loose from his collar. He stumbled forward, his socks slipping on the floor and his wrist twisted, sending a jolt of electric pain from his wrist to his elbow. Sliding himself several feet across the floor with his one working hand, he turned his neck back, watching as Antonio sauntered towards him, knife situated in a tight fist.

Lovino opened his mouth to scream, but the only sound that came out was an almost inaudible screech. He tried to grasp the floor in order to pull himself away but his fingers slipped across the linoleum as if it was greased. Antonio grabbed Lovino by the back of his shirt and flipped him onto his back, moving to straddle his waist to pin him down. Lovino reached for the knife, but Antonio lifted his arm high out of Lovino's reach.

Antonio jerked his neck, moving hair from out of his eyes. He brought the blade down, the other hand on the opposite side of Lovino's head to support himself, and pushed the tip against Lovino's jugular. Lovino could feel it there against the skin, his heart pounding so ferociously that the vein might have pulsed against the sharp edge until it was punctured. Above him, Antonio panted but didn't move, his mouth open as he breathed but didn't utter a word. Lovino tried to swallow and looked up at him, tears making trails down his temples and the blood from his nose dripping down the back of his throat.

"Antonio," he gasped wetly. He was holding onto Antonio's arms as if he was on the edge of a cliff and they might keep him from falling. His feet twitched.

There was no response. Just the sound of breathing. Antonio's eyes were large and blank, looking down at Lovino, but not seeing him. He had retreated into his own head. Lovino couldn't help but imagine the inside of Antonio's mind like a council of faceless, anthropomorphic shadows that were debating whether or not he should cut Lovino's throat open. Antonio probably had no say what went on in there; he just stood by and let angry, arguing voices make the most of his decisions. Without meaning to, Lovino snorted and gagged on his own blood, spitting it out onto his lips. It tasted like pennies and he choked on it some more.

A switch seemed to flick; a light turning on on the inside of Antonio's mind. He made a sort of high whimper and dropped the knife beside Lovino's head, retracting his hand as if the knife was going to bite. He pulled his hands to his chest, grasping them with fingers over fingers as if he might be trying to hold them back.

"Oh, shit …" he whispered in a breathy voice. He snatched the knife and pushed himself off Lovino, setting the knife on the table, out of reach for the both of them, and turning his back to the man on the ground. His hand wad on his forehead as he cursed to himself and muttered in what Lovino assumed was Spanish. Lovino pushed himself up on his elbows, the pain in his wrist acute, but seemingly unimportant.

Antonio kept the hand on his head. "God, oh, God, _shit,_" he cursed, conspicuously exasperated. With Antonio having his back to him, Lovino took this opportunity to slide himself away a few feet until his back hit the wall next to the table. In pain and afraid, he curled himself into a ball, with his knees to his chest, and waited for Antonio to calm down.

"Oh, oh, God, Lovino …" he panted. "I'm … oh, God …" He turned back and either didn't notice Lovino had away or didn't care. "...I need to take a break for a little bit. I need to do something …" He clenched his eyes briefly, then said, "I need to make things better."

The pain in Lovino's wrist sent a bolt of discomfort all the way through his shoulder and he noticed that it was starting to swell. He wanted to tell Antonio that he needed to go to the hospital, or just get any sort of medical care, but if he did Antonio might break the wrist Lovino only assumed was sprained. After pacing around the island for a few minutes, Antonio turned his attention back to Lovino. From the floor he looked abnormally tall; his legs long and lean, the color of the pants making him resemble a black grasshopper. He was breathing more normally now, his face a bit shiny and sticky looking from crying.

"Okay," he began, trying to find some sense of control, sniffling and taking a heavy breath. "I think … I need to lie down for a while. You too." As he watched Lovino's swelling wrist he seemed to become filled with more lethargy, like somewhere an invisible hose was pumping him full of dull sadness and regret. "You'll have to go in the closet again because I still don't trust you."

"_No!_" Lovino cried, clutching his wrist and sitting up as best as he could. Antonio looked only slightly surprised at the plea, but Lovino shrunk back anyway. "Antonio," he whimpered. "… Please, I need to get to a doctor. I think my wrist is sprained and I don't know if my nose is broken." He paused, waiting for Antonio to interject, but he didn't. "Please, Antonio, it hurts like a bitch."

Antonio moved his tongue around inside his mouth, mentally gnawing over the request. It was difficult to tell if he would say no simply out of malice, as a moderate act of vengeance, or simple because he just didn't want Lovino to leave. There didn't seem to be much more substance to Antonio's reasoning that he didn't want to be alone. He was either a truly simple creature, or something very complex hidden beneath the guise of one.

Separating his lips with a slightly wet sound, he said, "I can't take you. But I'll give you whatever medication I've got so the swelling'll go down and maybe you can sleep through the rest of your pain." he hesitated, a step then a short pause, and approached Lovino's corner. "I know you don't want to talk to me. Or touch me. I know you want me to take you home because I'm not okay and I keep trying to hurt you. But you're gonna make me better, Lovino. See, I'm already calmed down." He opened his arms in a gesture towards himself and smiled weakly. Lovino took a breath and looked the other man up and down as if expecting something different, or something that said _yeah, it's alright now. _

"Okay," Lovino said in a shaky voice and Antonio looked openly surprised by it. "Fine. I'll stay. I just need something to make this stop hurting." Remembering what Antonio said earlier, he added, "I'll be quiet."

Antonio didn't move immediately. He just sort of stood there looking either sad or empty. Outside, tapping noises came every few seconds on the roof. It was raining. It wasn't much past two-thirty but it felt like it was much later in the evening. Lovino was shaken but tired. And for some reason, no longer afraid; just entirely empty, as if someone had pulled a plug and drained him of everything. The moment passed and Antonio slipped his arm underneath Lovino's in order to hoist him to his feet. In the bathroom he wiped under Lovino's nose with a washcloth until all the blood was gone. Lovino could still feel some coagulated inside his nasal passages. Antonio said that it didn't look broken, and it really didn't seem like he hit him that hard since the bleeding stopped so suddenly. Lovino begged to differ. Antonio was a hard hitter. He said nothing.

He took two aspirins and one low-dose over the counter sleeping pill. For the first time, Lovino sat on Antonio's bed. They waited there while they waited for the sleeping medication to kick in and Lovino speculated that if Antonio were to seize the opportunity for a date-rape attempt, he really wouldn't care. As long as he didn't make an attempt to run away and remained generally pleasant, staying with Antonio until somebody found him wouldn't be difficult.

Something in him wanted to say _pleasant_. It made him feel nervous.

Antonio grabbed Lovino a bag of ice for his nose and wrist. He even put a pillow in the closet for him to lay on. The act of kindness felt immense when it shouldn't have. He was still being forced into a closet and held in captivity with a bruised nose and a sprained wrist. But the act was still welcome, and in comparison to anything else he'd recently received, it was gracious and compassionate.

Lovino held the bag of ice against his wrist and the pain began to numb away. "Thank you," he said quietly, feeling embarrassed for saying it. His voice slipped away into nothingness, becoming a thin, insignificant sound. Gray clouds thickened and expanded inside his head.

"I know you don't believe me," Antonio said suddenly, and his voice in the silence was like an arrow through paper. "…But you are precious to me. I just sometimes lose myself in my own head." And he was calm again; a starving artist, not a speck of sadism, just kindness. And remorse.

With a slightly furrowed brow and the plastic bag of ice on his swollen and purple wrist, he asked, "_Why?_" Antonio didn't seem to exactly understand what Lovino was asking so he elaborated with. "Why _me? _Why _anyone_?" He adjusted the ice to the opposite side of his wrist, the hand holding the bag slightly uncomfortable.

"Hardly anything in this world follows reason," Antonio whispered. For some reason, he looked abnormally worn. He was starting to disappear, little spots of blackness devouring him away. Lovino said something, but he didn't know what; it may not have been an actual word or sentence or even a rational thought at all, but just a mismatched, nonsense sound to grab Antonio's attention. He started to tip over, unconsciousness not beckoning him, but pulling him down with delicate hands, and Antonio caught him, carrying him over to his place to sleep. Lovino's feet dragged across the carpet.

Rest came, as did revelation. In Lovino's mind, Antonio was not unkind or malicious; he wasn't unable to function or care for others. With random gestures of cruelty, selfishness or loneliness brought victims which brought victims which brought victims, let them be lonely children or abused friends or spouses; or even a random stranger spending his friendless Tuesday night in unfamiliar bars.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N****: **I'm so ecstatic that people actually like this so much, I've put a lot of effort in this plot so it just makes me so happy! I was able to pull out another chapter pretty quickly. Thanks to everyone for their reviews, favorites and alerts! You guys are so great.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
V. Chapter 4

There became something serene about the darkness of the enclosure. With his body curled into a ball, knees against chest and fingers pressed to lips, the corners of his mouth, he was like a child in the womb, listening to sounds of the outside. Through the walls, he could hear Antonio shifting through foodstuffs or flicking on the television early in the morning. In his space –_ Lovino's space _– he could listen, but not experience. It was a place of safety. He sometimes wished that Antonio would assume that he was asleep and not knock on the door so he could continue to count the times his heart made thumping noises in the cavity of his ribs.

The swelling in his wrist had been reduced to nothing by the time Saturday morning arrived. He wouldn't know until later that Antonio had let him sleep through Friday and even until the next morning, delicately rapping his knuckles against the wooden door. If he had slept in the bedroom or the living room or if he had left the house, Lovino didn't know. The only thing he knew was that he had dozed off on Antonio's shoulder and had been locked away to sleep. He felt that he should have been relieved that he wasn't sexually violated; he felt like he should have been thanking _God _that Antonio hadn't attempted to rape him or molest him or do something painful and humiliating to him. And yet he didn't. He just felt like he no longer expected him to. It might have been trust, or maybe he was just naïve.

On Saturday afternoon, after a breakfast of semi-burnt toast and overcooked eggs (which Lovino actually didn't mind), Antonio bandaged up his wrist with some gauze and gave him something to take for his pain. There was a blackening bruise on Lovino's cheek and nose, but the pain had started to fade. He no longer assumed anything had been broken.

"Just keep the pressure off it and it'll probably get better by the end of next week," Antonio supplied optimistically as he wrapped the bandages around and around Lovino's arm. He felt a little bit like he was being mummified. Or being strangled by a boa constrictor. Antonio snipped off the end of the coarse gauze with a miniscule pair of silver scissors, usually reserved for grooming purposes. "I hope you're feeling better. You slept for an awful long time!"

"Did you end up going anywhere?"Lovino grumbled, flexing his fingers as much as his sprain would allow. The other man shrugged noncommittally.

"Not really anywhere. I sort of just hung around in the living room for a while until I passed out. It's not like I can actually go anywhere with you in the closet." He put the bandages in the cabinet and fiddled with his fingers. That was something Lovino noticed; Antonio was always playing with his hands. There was something about it Lovino secretly liked. And it was even beside the fact that he kind of liked knowing where Antonio's hands were at all times. There was just something he liked about it. Maybe it was even a little cute.

"Is it that fucking terrifying? Me running away?" he questioned, somewhat defensive, narrowing his eyes down at his fingernails. As soon as he asked it, he regretted it since the subject of loneliness, of abandonment was nearly as dangerous as being unsure of what wires on a bomb to cut. But Antonio didn't seem too bothered by it; he just laid himself on his bed and swung his feet off the edge, dangling them.

"I-I suppose. Yes," he replied. He paused, but then he grinned wildly to himself, his eyes looking large surrounded by kind features. "But I'm starting to trust you now! I think maybe sometime this week we can leave the house for a while and do something together. I mean, you know, until then I can't let you sleep in your own bed or anything because I'm still not sure if you're going to run away or not." His face lit up and he held up a finger in an excited gesture. "_But!"_ he exclaimed. "Now you have something to look forward to!"

It felt odd, even as he cast Antonio a miffed look, that if Lovino was to be completely honest with himself he'd admit that he was a little excited. It felt like a guilty pleasure. A small, delicious sin; like a housewife sneaking a peak at a shirtless mechanic next door when her husband was gone, or his brother sneaking gelato out of the fridge at three in the morning even though he was trying to make himself diet. The idea of being let out, and not even just exposed to the outside, but given a small freedom, sent a tingling pleasure blooming from his chest to the tips of his fingers. And Antonio being there wouldn't be all too bad, either. They hadn't had an incident yet that day. And bruises faded anyway.

The day came and went. Antonio didn't have to work because it was Saturday and the art shop was closed so they spent the day playing some old board games that Antonio found in one of the dresser drawers of the bedroom Lovino had first woken up in. Lovino didn't force himself to smile or laugh when something was funny; although, he hid it well behind snickers, sneers, and swears. It just felt natural. It shouldn't have, but it did. And he should have been frightened and cautious, but he wasn't. No, everything was fine. Like it should have been.

Antonio won three out of five games they played (he ended up explosively accusing him of cheating, flailing with wide gestures, but all it did was make Antonio laugh, severely entertained. It was probably impossible to cheat at chess, anyway) before they ate the rest of the leftover pizza for dinner and popped in an old horror movie. It was _Dawn of the Dead. _Romero, not Snyder – back when zombie flesh looked like mint-colored foam and the zombies were actually _slow _like they were supposed to be. It happened to be one of Lovino's favorite movies. While the screen flashed familiar images, Lovino dug himself a hole in his head where he curled up like an animal in hibernation and thought.

The two of them weren't so different. And yet, in every way, they were. It was like Antonio was wearing some unfamiliar being's skin like a suit. Sometimes it was embellished with feathers and scented with nice cologne, then quickly rot and fell apart. If Lovino were to find the zipper somewhere underneath Antonio's hair or on the bottoms of his feet, then he could peel it of like latex, and beneath it would be something he recognized.

The movie ended and it was time for Lovino to be lead back to his closet. _His _closet. After only three days and several intermittent sessions inside it, it had become one of his possessions, like a shirt or phone. He barely held back a snicker. It wasn't like he owned any of those things anymore. Vaguely he wondered where Antonio had stashed the items that had originally been in his pockets, but then quickly decided that he didn't care. It was late. He was tired.

Antonio refilled Lovino's bottle of water and told him goodnight. And for a quick moment, Lovino felt like a pet. He felt like a dog or a cat or even a boring, useless hamster that was being put away for the night. The thought was unsettling, but not enough so that he would argue. Outside the door, the sound of rustling clothes meant Antonio was changing for the night. The lamp beside Antonio's bed clicked, and the light underneath disappeared. He fell asleep with his ear pressed against the door. Listening to the soothing, reassuring sound of Antonio's breathing.

Three days went by this way, with no arguments (except for Lovino's petty, pointless verbal lashing) and no violence. Lovino didn't bring up the fact that he was longing for the outside, a little claustrophobic and lethargic, his skin feeling gray like old glue from the lack of sun. The only outside light he ever really saw came from the window in Antonio's room, and the bright beams struggled to break through the dark curtains. His mood threatened to plummet, more so than it already has. He wanted to leave the house, but simultaneously didn't want to pull too hard on the leash Antonio firmly attached to his neck. It felt that if he broke something between them, the thin string of trust or contentment, then he wouldn't be able to fix it. There would be no pleading, and no second chances. Stability had been reached, but it only stood like a dime on its side.

At about five-thirty Tuesday afternoon, Antonio returned from work and greeted Lovino with a cheery albeit tired and well-worked face at the door to his closet. Lovino grunted some acknowledgment and rushed himself to the bathroom, his bottle of water having been ingested and disturbing his bladder several hours before. After washing his hands, he entered the kitchen. Antonio was leaning on his elbows on the island in the middle of the kitchen, glancing over the back of a large, rectangular box.

"What's that?" Lovino questioned hesitantly, slightly apprehensive as if Antonio might have brought home a ticking bomb. Thinking about it more carefully, it probably wouldn't have been surprising. Antonio looked up a grinned, all teeth and happiness. The straightness and whiteness of his teeth almost startling; not a work of orthodontia, but Mother Nature deciding to give the guy a break and lend him a favor.

"I bought us a puzzle," he announced. He motioned with his hand for Lovino to come over and look. The box showed an Amsterdam canal with a vermillion tint staining the sky and trees. "I was getting kind of bored with the other games so I bought this puzzle for a few dollars for something to do."

Lovino glanced over it, sniffing lightly. "Looks alright, I guess."

"Wanna start it now or later?"

The shorter man shrugged. "I don't care. We can start it now if you want." He paused, suddenly stiff. "If … _you_ want."

Giving his fingers a quick drum on the marble counter top, he replied with a soft, airy "_Yeah, sure_." Lovino breathed out and relaxed. The tension that had his back like stone was gone.

The puzzle was about one thousand pieces and the majority of them were some dark shades of red or brown, making starting the piece nearly impossible. They poked their fingers around the bloody, muddy mess looking for corner pieces and figuring to themselves that it might be well into the next month before they even put a dent in it.

"Haha, sorry, I shouldn't have gotten such a large one," Antonio berated himself, smiling apologetically and gnawing on the nail of his ring finger since the day before he'd completely chewed down the nail on his index finger. Lovino picked up two random red pieces and tried to force them together.

"I dunno," he sighed, sounded bored and irritated, but not really feeling that way. "At least it'll give us something to fucking do around here."

Antonio put his bottom lip between his teeth. He stopped fooling around with the ambiguous, shapeless pieces for a moment and suddenly Lovino could feel tension form like a line of spider web between them.

"I don't really care," he confessed, "Because I really like spending time with you." He then looked highly embarrassed and grabbed some random pieces and pretended to play with them. "I mean, like…" Nervously laughing, he corrected himself. "That sounded weird, didn't it?"

Lovino connected two brown and red edge pieces, and whispered a smug and victorious _yes!_, then calmed himself and replied, "No, I get it. Things have been going … well." For a moment, he paused, thinking of what to add. Thinking of what might appease Antonio. "…I'm kind of liking it here."

Air seemed to rush into Antonio's lungs, entering through his nose and breathing joyful circulation into him in about two seconds. He looked up at Lovino and beamed, his eyes large and childish. He seemed genuinely ecstatic.

"_Really?_" he gasped, disbelieving. He seemed to catch himself and lowered his voice. "Oh, God. That's … that's so great." He tried to crack his knuckles but since he'd already cracked them a few minutes ago no sound was made. It didn't matter; Antonio was a bundle of joy. And for whatever reason, it made Lovino slightly happy to see him that way.

"Yeah," Lovino agreed, nodding as if confirming it to himself. He realized he was smiling a bit. He felt good all over. "…Oh, hey, I fucking conquered this corner over here. So now we have one-one hundredth done now. You better start hauling ass, you bastard." He placed the right angle of the puzzle pieces over to the side for safe keeping. Their kitchen table was going to be unusable for however long it took for them to finish their project.

Still grinning, Antonio grabbed a handful of pieces and tried forcing them together, two at a time.

.

"I have a surprise for you!"

Antonio stood in the walkway, the corners of his mouth turned up in a playfully devilish way. Some part of Lovino felt a spasm of panic, but it was a part that had been hidden away between useless organs and old emotions, tucked between concern and apprehension. Antonio did some sort of excited and humorous hop into the living room, jumping onto the carpet with both feet pressed tightly together at the heel, and then plopped down on the settee beside Lovino like and energized child. He raised his hand up to above eye-level and then made his index finger nosedive down onto Lovino's shoulder in a whimsical poke.

"Guess what it is!" He wriggled in his seat as if he was hyperactive. By his tone it seemed like he didn't really want Lovino to guess. If anything, _he _wanted to tell, but in order to make it fair he needed to ask first.

Opening his mouth pointlessly, only to close it again, Lovino wasn't quite sure what to guess. Maybe it was another board game; Antonio seemed to be going through a kick of those. Or maybe he'd always loved them, it wasn't like Lovino had been around long enough to find out.

"Jeez, I don't fucking know, dammit," he admitted, shrugging and nervously tugging on the collar of the shirt Antonio had given him. Antonio shook his head.

"No, c'mon, I'll show you!" He wrapped his fingers around Lovino's wrist and pulled him through the kitchen, past their puzzle (which was now a fraction more completed), and down the hall with Lovino lightly cursing all the way. With vague interest, Lovino thought it might be an addition to his closet. Maybe a blanket was the next upgrade.

But it had nothing to do with the closet that he slept in for just about a week. Antonio pushed open the door opposite to his bedroom.

"_Tada!_" he exclaimed, his arm extended into the room like a magician presenting the finale of his trick. Sunlight poured in through the open window – the curtainless window – and made the room look summery and bright. Lovino could feel his skin beginning to retain the color and his head felt pleasantly light.

"I thought that since we'd been getting along so well and everything and you hadn't tried to run away at all that you deserved a bigger sleeping space," Antonio explained, seeming pretty pleased with himself. Lovino's hand traveled to his mouth, his fingertips grazing his bottom lip as if he might catch the words that accidentally fell from them.

"Antonio," he breathed. Words got lost on the way to his mouth. He wanted to say _you didn't have to _or, in the very least, _thank you_ but he'd forgotten how to speak and all that came out was warm air.

"It's no big deal," the other man said nonchalantly. "I'll miss hearing you at night, though." His face suddenly became sad. It was a sweet sort of sadness, and Lovino likened it to the feeling he got when he watched summer leaves decay into the dirt or fall; even though he was told and knew that they'd come back next year, bring flowers and hues, it felt like they'd never be. They had just died. The warm colors in Antonio's skin became cool.

"Fuck," Lovino began obscenely. "I'll just be across the hall. Shit, it's not like I went far or anything..."

In that moment something good should have happened, but it didn't. Everything felt so light and comfortable, and it should have stayed that way, but it didn't. Lovino turned his head to look at Antonio, to maybe give him some words of consolation, but he couldn't get them out in time. In a moment that must have been quick because Lovino couldn't lean away or get himself out of the way, but seemed impossibly slow, Antonio leaned in and pressed his closed lips against Lovino's partially open mouth. They were held there for a fraction of a second but it was cold and unsatisfying and he couldn't move away. Nausea had clogged up his throat.

Antonio's eyes were closed, held shut peacefully, and Lovino could see the length and thickness of his black lashes; he could smell art supplies, musk. Behind them, light from the window illuminated dust and debris that floated around their heads like golden pollen. Antonio's mouth opened and Lovino could hear the wet sound of parting lips. His body was jolted out of its premature rigor mortis as if by electrocution and he jerked his head back with a tiny gasp. The back of his head was stopped by something firm, but not hard, and it took him a few seconds to realize that Antonio had reached up and tangled a hand in his hair to hold the back of his head. Antonio stared back at him, seeming only slightly shocked, and made to close his mouth but kept his lips parted just barely.

Somewhere beyond the room a car rumbled down the street in the midday sun.

"Sorry," Antonio murmured, whispering the word dully as if he wasn't, and his eyes became listless. He was back in his head again, and everything about him became gray. He didn't simply pale or fade; it was as if there was a drain beneath his skin. When he retreated back into the depressed, far corners of his brain, he grabbed the color of his skin like it was a piece of floating cloth and pulled it in with him so it left him like a sponge was soaking it in.

"...No," he returned, and everything felt jumbled, like he was viewing things through a camera and he couldn't hold still. "It's … not a big deal. Everyone makes mistakes."

Antonio's back was to the window and the sun illuminated the stray hairs that stood away from his head in yellow and white. With the light in his hair and the shadows on his face, he seemed ethereal; a companion of God booted from the pedestals of heaven and not enough a friend of Satan to be welcomed in Hell. He touched his mouth, the tip of his finger pulling gently at his bottom lip, touching at the creases in the skin. His fingers appeared long; artist's fingers, fingers for painting and sketching in charcoal and acrylics. Fingers for touching.

It was almost a question when he said, "...It wasn't a mistake, though." The hand crumpled up like a wilting flower and his mouth grazed his knuckles. He suddenly breathed sharply and put his hand on his forehead and said, "No, it's okay." He nodded, but it was mostly to himself. "It was my fault. It was my fault, don't worry about it."

Extending his arm slowly and hoping that Antonio wouldn't lash out or jerk away, Lovino placed his hand on Antonio's shoulder. The other man didn't move; he didn't seem to notice it was there. "Hey, don't worry," he said in a breathy, relieved voice, hoping it wasn't too obvious. "I didn't … it wasn't that bad. It's okay."

Antonio sighed and smiled nervously, leaning into the touch of Lovino's hand on his shoulder. "Yeah … I … okay. I don't want to think about it." He laughed through the last few words, the giggle tiny and high. "Uhm, come on, let's go do something."

For the rest of the day, they didn't talk about it and made obvious points to converse around it. They made it through a game and a movie and almost forgot about the embarrassment of the near homoerotic experience. But it hung heavily between them like a bird on a clothesline, ready to hop away and cause mild acts of insanity.

For the first night in almost a week, Lovino didn't sleep curled up in a ball; instead, he laid and a bed, not wanting to sleep, but just wanting to stretch out his arms and legs until his fingers draped over the edges and his heels just reached over the end. The door was locked from the outside, one of Antonio's slightly apprehensive safety precautions, but the window let in the sounds of the outside through the glass and the blankets were cool so it wasn't like Lovino had anything to complain about. The air in the room smelled clean. It was the best gift he'd ever been given.

At some point, Lovino came to realize that, as satisfying as it was, laying spread-eagle wasn't the most comfortable way to sleep, so he flipped over, thankful for the freedom to move, and wrapped himself in blankets. He felt safe, and completely satisfied. Some part of him begrudgingly missed the sound of Antonio's breathing in the room beside him and if he could he would have opened both their doors so he could listen to the sound of breath passing through his lungs like an old lullaby. He vaguely wondered if Antonio was still awake and wished that the door wasn't locked so he could open it and just break into Antonio's room. But, when he thought about it, it's not like he would if he could; he just didn't possess that kind of bravery.

He nibbled on the side of his thumb. His thoughts drifting to an abstract place in the back of his brain. He remembered Antonio's mouth on his and every nerve in his body screamed. Kissing Antonio, or anyone of the same gender, made him feel like a red hot blade was being brutally twisted through his belly. It had nothing to do with the fact that Antonio wasn't good looking – he was actually attractive in a very unorthodox way. It was the kind of attractive that, if Lovino had been walking down the street with some imaginary girlfriend and had seen this man walking towards him on an empty street, he'd have clutched her hand tight as if to say to the both if them _don't you even think about it_. He ignored the idea of any sort of sexual attraction. There was no desire for a relationship, it simply didn't exist. He ignored how it seemed that he was just trying to convince himself.

Crickets chirped to each other outside. It's not like Lovino had a problem with Antonio feeling that way, it just became something he was concerned about when it directly involved him. Something was going to go wrong, he could feel it. He clenched his eyes shut. And just when things were going so well. He wondered where his parents and brother were and if they noticed that he was gone. They had probably called his apartment and didn't feel any concern when he didn't answer the phone. He wasn't popular or important or well-known; he was just Lovino, who lived on the second floor and dropped out of college because it didn't feel right. He rolled over. What a sad excuse.

Lovino dreamed that night he and Antonio were in a restaurant that he didn't recognize. A blue tank of silver fish swam back and forth in an immense school beside them, and they enjoyed each other's company in the presence of algae and shimmering rocks. Antonio didn't speak, and the two of them sipped at exotic drinks and delicately cooked veal in silence, beneath a plethora of sunset-tinted lights and above a red tablecloth, mindfully embroidered with some golden pattern.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N****: **I've got nothing to do with my life. So I updated early! Well, it's mainly because I get such lovely reviews. Thank you guys so much, I really appreciate it. Honestly, those of you who are anonymous need to log in or get an account so I can thank you properly. I don't always get the chance to reply to all reviews, but I try. I'd especially like to thank Dubstepezio for the fanart because that was amazing and I wasn't expecting it and they are the reason why I'm updating so early. I fangirled so hard over it.

Oh, there's two characters that cameo in this chapter. I'm wondering if I made it obvious who they were or not.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine. Neither is Smith's. Or Oprah.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language, psychological/sociopathic tendencies

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
VI. Chapter 5

Within the week, Lovino's wrist had healed, the pain down to only a dull soreness when he twisted it too far or moved it at too much of an angle too quickly, and he unwrapped the bandages, scratching at the skin that had been horridly itching in the only place he couldn't scratch. His nails on the discomfort felt only slightly less pleasurable than sex. The vicious bruising on his nose had started to fade, also, and he was looking just about back to normal. Antonio made a point to ask him frequently if he needed aspirin or something to help him sleep. He was acting more like an overbearing, over-concerned mother than someone willing to kidnap a stranger for the sake of not being lonely.

Being able to stay in his room while Antonio went to work during the day was another freedom Lovino was having no trouble getting accustomed to. And while he had never actually "enjoyed" spending seven or so hours a day in an old, cramped closet, it had sort of become a part of him. He even found a small amount of security in it. But the new space of the bedroom was like learning exhaling dust and inhaling forest air. He couldn't have thanked Antonio enough if he wanted to.

Antonio had left right on time on the next Monday morning, letting Lovino out to quickly use the restroom to shower, having a quick breakfast while the two of them squished together in order to glance over semi-interesting stories in the newspaper about bears wandering into cities and some Christian extremists blowing up something they disagreed with, then working briefly on their massive puzzle before saying goodbye and locking the door to his room. Lovino made his bed, unmade it when he decided to try and get back to sleep, then made it again when decided, screw it, he wasn't getting back to sleep. The sun began to creep up over the black thicket of trees to signal morning.

The room was practically bare and Lovino wished Antonio had at least given him some Windex or something since nearly every surface was covered in dust. He didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned that the place hadn't been occupied in some time.

He opened up the white night stand, hoping for maybe an old book, but found nothing but the flashlight and box of Kleenex, remembering the first day he'd woken up in there. For lack of anything better to do, he picked up the thin flashlight and rolled it around in his hands. It was small, about the length of his hand from the tip of his middle finger to the heel of his hand, and metal. The button to turn it on was a soft flap of rubber over the metal piece that turned the bulb in the gadget on. He pressed it and nothing happened.

Bored, he shook it, hoping that maybe the light would flicker alive suddenly and something amazing and entertaining would happen until Antonio came home. Something rattled around inside it and he unlatched the compartment that held the batteries in search of the problem. Apparently, the battery had come loose and was knocking against the piece of plastic holding it in place. He placed he battery back in, feeling mildly and pointlessly accomplished. It was probably the most productive thing he'd ever heard of anyone doing in an almost entirely empty room. He pressed the button and a circle of light appeared on the pale yellow wall before flickering and dying completely. Whacking at the metal with his hand, he squinted at it through the plastic circle in the head of the flashlight, checking to see if the bulb had come loose.

Light burst into his eye and he felt a sudden explosion of adrenaline. The light was a blistering yellow and engulfed him, for about half a second devouring him alive like a toothless monster. He remembered the light, could see it coming and going, and he remembered the voice that came with it, slurring things in his ear and tasting him with a tongue that felt like worms. The flashlight slipped out of his grip and hit the floor. He let it roll away and sit there for a moment.

Antonio had been shining a light in his eyes. Dilating his pupils, maybe. Lovino had had it done to him before, although not in such a shocking or surprising way. It had been a long time beforehand, during his last annual doctor's visit, and the doctor took the same tiny, sharp light and stared into his eyes while the dots of black expanded and contracted. He picked up the flashlight and put it away. It was making his head hurt.

The window was nailed shut, just like it had been in Antonio's room. The nails were hammered in even intervals, all neat and straight. Lovino tried to jiggle the window at the handle, hoping a few nails might give a little, or maybe come loose completely, but nothing budged. Antonio wasn't a carpenter, but when he meant for Lovino to stay in the house, he obviously meant it. With his middle finger and thumb, Lovino pinched the bent head of the nail closest to the end of the window and wriggled it in the wood. There was a small amount of give, just enough so that he could barely feel it move beneath his finger. He knelt down, looking at it at eye level, and tried to pry it out, holding onto the wooden ledge for support and hopefully some extra leverage. The head slipped between his forefinger's nail and he gasped and cursed, waving his hand around in the air. Blood made a little bubble on the tip of his finger and he put the appendage in his mouth to suck it off.

There were at least a dozen nails, possibly more, from what he could see. Even if he had managed to get one loose, after tugging and twisting, it would have taken hours of time and two tons of patience he didn't have. He didn't recognize the outside. He couldn't have gone anywhere.

Blood made a copper taste in his mouth. And the thought of Antonio coming home to the empty house was painful. Sucking on his finger he thought, why leave now and risk pain when staying could mean easier freedom? Someone would find him. Someone would notice he was gone. They'd come looking. As soon as the next rent was due, the landlord would make his way right up to Lovino's door and break his way in. They'd send a search party, notify papers, call old friends and question neighbors. He'd be found within the week and Antonio would be hauled off to the closest asylum. At some point, the story would probably reach Oprah and she'd call him up asking for an interview. _He made you live in a closet? How did you survive? Well, he's locked up now, right? Yeah, everybody give him a round of applause for his bravery in the face of danger!_

The sun clawed its way over the green oaks and maples. Yes, they would find him, eventually. _Yes._

_._

"Ummm...Well, I have an announcement to make," Antonio said hesitantly as he opened the door to Lovino's room. The shorter man looked up at him apprehensively, nervous as if he might say something like, _Well, I'm going to have to kill you and eat you now! Sorry, buddy!_ He asked what and prayed it wasn't something painful. Antonio scratched above his cheekbone with his index finger, smiling, but looking oddly humble. "We're officially out of food."

Relief swept though Lovino like a tidal wave and he felt a little bit silly for assuming that he was going to be eaten. Then he thought about it again and decided, no, it was probably okay to assume that. He scowled. "Why the fuck would you allow that to happen, you dumbass? What do we do now?"

Looking around the room as if someone might appear and hold up a sign with the answer, Antonio squinted and rubbed his upper lip with the side of his finger, making a pseudo-intellectual _h__mmm_ thinking sound. "Well, I'm thinking we should probably go to the store. We have a Smith's close by. It's actually the only grocery store we've got around here."

Lovino paused and repeated, "We? I can go with you?"

Antonio was in the middle of opening his mouth to speak when he stopped to smile and laugh through his nose, blowing air out through his nasal passages and giggling soundlessly. "Ah, well ... yeah." He blinked cutely.

Walking past the taller man into the hallway, towards the direction of the bathroom which the pressure in his bladder was screaming for, he asked, "You sure? 'Cause I can keep my ass here if you want." Not that he wanted to. His head felt too tight and he needed to decompress it.

Antonio waved his hand in a dismissing motion and shoved the other one in the pocket of his dark, loose jeans. "No, no, really. I...I don't know, I think you deserve it. See the world and all!" He stopped, and then corrected himself. "Or Smith's. World's a little big, I think."

Lovino stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, one foot on the tile and one hand gripping the wood of the doorway. Marionette strings pulled the corner of his mouth up. "Thanks, I, uh, could really use the time out." Drumming his fingers against the wood and watching Antonio shrug back simply at him he added, "I appreciate it."

"No problem," Antonio said, cheery and bright. He seemed happy. Relatively normal. "Anything for you."

Lovino closed the door to the bathroom and vaguely wondered what he meant.

.

Antonio's car was a small, blue sedan; littered with old wrappers, paper coffee cups, and probably important yellow forms, dusted with the thick smell of old cigarettes. It didn't look much different from any other car belonging to a young guy in their age group he'd ever been in and Lovino assumed that messiness was a universal trait among the sane and insane. The concrete driveway led out to a grey street that desperately needed to be paved. It seemed like one hit on a pothole and Antonio's tiny car would flip over and cause a blitzkrieg of metal bits and imminent deaths.

The houses were severely spaced apart, almost cruelly so; it would be, at the very least, a pain to walk (or even drive) to a neighbor's house and ask for a favor in good weather, never mind when the late fall and winter months came. There was at least a good two hundred yards or so between houses on the same side of the street, separated by either a thick clump of various, thick trees or just an empty patch of grass. Before they hit a steady flow of buildings, there were hardly any houses at all; maybe only a dozen, or less. Lovino felt a pulse of concern. The distances between place made him worry. If he needed to run somewhere, he could be out-driven. If he needed to call for help, he'd be muffled by batches of miniature forest.

The town they drove into was about two miles away and it occurred to Lovino that he must have been farther from home that he thought because he recognized absolutely none of it. Smith's was across the street from a gas station that Antonio said they'd stop at afterward since his car was just about running on empty. There were grocery carts in the parking lot. They pulled into an empty spot and Antonio kept the door locked.

"Don't leave my sight. Don't go anywhere unless I tell you you can. I'll be right next to you. If you try anything, I'll see."

Lovino nodded, said okay. He kept his hand on the handle. He wanted to get out. The door unlocked.

Above the automated doors on the inside of the store was a screen showing the security footage. Probably an attempt to ward off shoplifters. Lovino imagined holding up a sign that said s_ave me! I've been kidnapped!_ But like anyone even watched those things, he thought pessimistically.

With his hands shoved down his pockets, Antonio asked, "Okay, where should we go first? There's virtually nothing in the house and I got paid on Sunday so anything is fair game."

Lovino looked up and down unfamiliar aisles and leaned forward to begin towards a random one. "Um, this aisle looks okay..." His voice trailed away. Something cold was against his lower back, a chilly little circular shape, and the blood rushed to his extremities. There was a metallic click.

"Careful how far you go," Antonio warned in a quiet voice, keeping his volume below that of the rumble of voices around them. He pressed the gun a little firmer into Lovino's skin and Lovino could hear Antonio's thumb cock back the hammer.

"You wouldn't," he whispered, not completely processing the situation. There were people in line for the cash registers on the other end of the store and people in the aisles in front of them. No one behind or close enough to the side and see Antonio holding the gun under the back of Lovino's shirt. Antonio suddenly pressed his body against Lovino's back, his hips against the other man's backside, concealing the gun between them, the metal riding up all the way to the center of Lovino's back. One of Antonio's hands slithered around to Lovino's front and grasped onto his hand, holding it delicately and intimately.

His mouth against the skin below Lovino's ear, opening and closing in minuscule movements, he purred, "_Oh, you wish._"

He did. Lovino did wish.

They must have looked like lovers, standing there with Antonio grinding his hips into Lovino's back, gently swaying from side to side. In a slick, snake-like movement, Antonio slid his hand down from on top of Lovino's and pressed his fingers just above his inner thigh. The fingers pressing through his jeans felt personal and violating and everything inside of Lovino just dissolved; his vertebral column seemed to evaporate inside him and the sole sturdiness of Antonio's upper body kept him supported.

Maybe out of curiosity and maybe out of terror he suddenly wondered what it would be like if they _were_ lovers; if by some odd chance Antonio wasn't pretending and _he_ wasn't pretending, would this be what it was like? Would he spend every day walking on the tips of his toes around Antonio's eggshells so he might not offend, so he mind not provoke violence? Or would the opposite happen; the eagerness to leave, the anxiety, the discomfort, would it completely disappear? Maybe all the hostility would disintegrate; smothering to death like a fire stomped out with a blanket. Were people watching? Did they see them, much too close?

No. They didn't. They were out buying things for dinner and stocking up on after school snacks for their children. Nobody saw them.

They slid apart, Antonio sliding the gun deep into the pocket of his jeans. The pockets were loose, away from his body enough so that the gun wasn't visible through the fabric.

"There are people in here," Lovino said in a weak voice. He felt as if he might pass out. "Not in here." Antonio put his hand on Lovino's shoulder and he jumped, twitched inside his own skin, his sight slightly blurred over. The taller man leaned back into Lovino's ear, like a lover, like someone so much closer than he was.

"Yeah," he snapped, and it was a little angry, a little irritated, as if negativity were welling up inside him like molted lava. "There are. And I'd shoot you, and then I'd shoot myself. Everybody fucking wins." He patted Lovino hard on his backside and gestured for him to follow with his fingers as he strolled down the aisle in front of them. "You're just a sucker for civilians, aren't you, Lovi?"

Lovino was nearly stepping on Antonio's heels in order to keep up with him. He felt itchy about leaving him now, not just afraid that Antonio might just change his mind and decide to finish the both of them there, among cans of condensed soup and boxes of green tea so some helpless janitor would have to scrub their brains off packages of candy, but paranoid that he might fall too far behind. He might slip up. And that would be the end of it.

Antonio picked out boxes of junk food, bags of potato chips and packages of Oreos, all seemingly at random, as if he really didn't care what they brought home, and with a strange sort of aggression. It seemed like he was determined to release some of his anger on something so the crap food section was the one taking all the heat.

"Come on, Lovino," he called back, his walk quick and furious. "You need to keep up, sugar, wouldn't want anything to happen to you." They looped around to the front of the store and Antonio threw their foodstuffs in an abandoned cart, jumping onto the back, holding onto the red handle with both hands, and kicking it forward. All at once he was horridly angry and hyperactive. Lovino tried to keep his walk at a little less than a slow jog, but Antonio had carted himself ahead.

He called out, "Shit, Antonio! Wait! Slow down!" It should have been funny, watching him wheel himself around like that, but it wasn't. Lovino's heart threatened to burst, to spew a cocktail of fear and blood and regret on the supermarket tiles.

"_Why?_" Antonio asked in a teasing, childish voice, kicking the floor to propel himself ahead about five feet. He laughed and it seemed almost cruel. _Catch me if you fucking can._

He suddenly hopped off the cart, letting it slide down to the end of one of the aisles where it hit the wall of packaged goods and stopped. Antonio quickly turned around, several yards ahead of Lovino, and smirked at him. He paused for only a second, maybe two, before stepping away. Giving a small wave, his long fingers wriggling mock playfully, he walked backwards around the corner and disappeared.

Lovino slowed down and stopped in the middle of the aisle. The cart sat abandoned. The first thing Antonio had said to him was don't_ leave my sight_ and then he'd pressed a gun against his back for stepping ahead of him. He watched for Antonio, waiting for him to reappear at the end of the aisle, to giggle at him and yell that he was just kidding, everything's okay, let's go, Lovino, we came here to get groceries, remember?

He didn't. And Lovino didn't know if he should hide or run somewhere or call for help. He stood in between a rack of potato chips and a shelf full of instant soup. Grocery store lights screamed down harshly and the rusty wheels of carts squeaked out - _p__lease die, please die, please die -_ as they were rolled through the meat section by busy housewives, making sounds like excited birds that perched outside of the closed window in the room where Lovino currently slept.

He took a step backward and his back gently bumped into whatever was behind him. He didn't turn because he knew it was Antonio, and he nearly fell onto the tiles.

"...Pardon me, are you okay?" And it wasn't Antonio's voice. It was lighter. Lovino spun around, feeling secure for a moment, and looked up at the stranger. It was someone he'd never seen; the stranger wasn't very old, maybe late twenties. Elegant looking with an air of arrogance in his stature. A woman stood next to him, concern knitting her eyebrows together.

Lovino sniffled and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, aware that he may have been crying, but wasn't quite sure. "Um...yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

The woman furrowed her eyebrows further, pale skin wrinkling and giving her an oddly welcoming expression. "Everything okay?"

If there was something he could say, Lovino would have said it. But Antonio could hear everything; he probably put tiny microphones under Lovino's shirts so he could hear everything he said. "No...I mean, yeah." Lovino rubbed his forehead and clenched his eyes shut, trying to fight a coherent thought through the fog in his brain. "...Yeah, I'm fine."

The man seemed to check behind himself, then leaned in slightly and half-whispered, "You know, I saw you with that man." Lovino perked up and said _y__eah._ The man raised an eyebrow, a questioning expression behind thin glasses. "He's not the greatest to ... be around. Doesn't have many friends, doesn't get out much."

Lovino said, mostly murmuring, "Oh, really." It came out with a soft breath, as if he already knew, and his eyes drifted.

"Yes," the man continued. "...It's not like he gives people a lot of trouble it's just ... we keep the kids away, we tell people needing a place to stay not to go to his house, things like that. I think he has something wrong with him."

A tiny, sad chuckle rumbled in Lovino's throat and despite the risk he was taking, he allowed the sound to let the two strangers know that he did know. The positive side was that he wasn't the only one who thought Antonio was insane. It was also the negative side. He wanted to leave; not just the store and not just out of Antonio's reach, but everything. If he could have taken a giant leap off the face of the Earth, he'd have done it. He'd get a running start on North America, take a few small leaps down Central America, and by the time he'd kicked off of Brazil, he'd be flying. The woman suddenly, discretely tugged at the man's expensive coat. The stranger leaned back sharply and looked off somewhere in the store, as if he could see through the shelves.

He pointed over the shelf to their right and said loudly, "The poultry's over there."

Standing on his tiptoes, confused, Lovino attempted to look over the shelf, seeing nothing but salt and vinegar chips. A hand came down onto his shoulder, knocking him back down onto flat feet, and he turned to look up at Antonio. The man behind him grinned like a jackal.

"Hey, found you."

Lovino turned back to the strangers as if to plea for help but the man just looked back at him and said, "It was nice talking to you." They left.

Antonio tapped his fingers on Lovino's shoulder, seemingly innocuously. "What was that about?" he asked, and he seemed ready to jump, to snarl, if Lovino even gave him a sliver of an excuse to do it.

Wanting to move the hand but too afraid to do it, Lovino replied with, "I asked him where the poultry section was. I thought that's where you might have gone. Had no fucking clue where you disappeared to..." He'd hoped he covered all the bases; covered all suspicion. The air was as thick as cotton, then,

"Okay." Antonio did a little hop and Lovino was utterly bewildered. "Well, we haven't bought _anything__._" He giggled. "So we should probably get on that now."

Lovino wasn't sure whether to say, _Oh, okay_ or to scream and claw at him and do everything in his power to get the gun away so he could shoot right through the top of his head, or to just break down into a thousand-million shards of glass. Antonio was absolutely shameless, spontaneous and vicious. His audacity knew no bounds. It wasn't as if he went to sulk in a corner for ten minutes or punch a wall or scream into a pillow. Something was wrong with him, and it was deeper than just the obvious. If Antonio didn't get help, at some point he finally would hurt somebody. Lovino flexed his fingers and the joints ached. As if he already hadn't.

And although their relationship was only really a pseudo-relationship (the small and fragile tether between captive and captor; where days riddled with violence and different cries of profanities and pleas for one's life should have assumedly been as expected as rain in April and flowers in May), there was still this abstract, open place where Lovino felt as if he could slip in and try to make things better. He shouldn't have wanted to, not only because it was dangerous territory, like stepping on small, volcanic rocks that floated across a seat of newly spewed molten fire, but because it was simply _ridiculous._ Sympathy was rare enough in normal human life, cheap flowers only coming when someone died or when someone got hitched and apologies and empathy as rare as small miracles, but in Lovino's situation, it should have been non-existent. And yet it wasn't. He massaged the area around his wrist and thought, yes, maybe Antonio is a little out of his mind. No, maybe he's _really_ out of his mind. But at some point, he's going to have to get better. Nobody can be that horridly bi-polar (if that's even what he was) and still function.

Another part of him said, _W__ho do you think you're kidding? He's functioned for over twenty years and without_ you. _So keep him appeased, smile and nod, and get out when his back is turned._

He turned back to Antonio, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his teeth on his lip and little strands of hair bouncing around his eyes. Harmless as a puppy. So Lovino joined his side as they grabbed the cart that Antonio had pushed into the shelf (the taller man looked at the object a little disdainfully, as if it held memories of bad things and people he didn't like) and they exited the aisle like two friends, or two somewhat distant lovers.

Lovino wanted to slip into that awkward space he felt between them, no larger than the space between one's arm and underarm, and ask Antonio where he went, what was wrong. But he felt like if he tried to squeeze in that space that he would be crushed. Holding onto the metal side of the cart, sliding his fingers through the metal holes, he wanted to make things better, for the both of them. And he wasn't quite sure why.

"We bought too much damn food," Lovino speculated. Antonio glanced back into the back of the car.

"_Haha, _maybe a little bit," he replied, turning back to the wheel. Miscellaneous boxes of cereal in a plastic bag with the store's name on it in red letters sat between them. Behind them, bags of random foodstuffs possessed nearly Antonio's entire car. Not nearly all of it had fit inside the trunk. "At least we won't have to go back for a while."

Lovino could have groaned to himself. It meant a couple more weeks of being confined to the house. The sun felt nice, like a perpetual blanket of contentment and warmth; and he wasn't feeling it through a window. He hopefully wondered if Antonio would ever need to do any other errands- dry-cleaning, heading to the bank, killing hookers or _something_ that might get him out of there. Kicking around at a can of soup that had rolled onto the car floor and around his feet, Lovino regretfully wished they hadn't bought so much food so that he might be able to go out again.

Carrying the bags inside, even with the both of them slinging several over each arm, took around a dozen trips. And since they couldn't put the bags on the kitchen table with their puzzle (now a little more than a sixth complete; it was started to become more obvious what the image was instead of just a menagerie of mismatched, colorless tones) they had to lug them all the way to the island counter top. Sorting all the food into different places, playfully arguing about what went where, took a little less than a half an hour, and by then it was so late that the both of them were hungry and they had to find something to take out again. Somewhat irritable, they decided on soup, which took the least amount of effort.

Waiting for the liquids to get hot in a metal pan, Antonio leaned his elbows on the linoleum counter top, his hips out and his eyes looking miles away. Lovino sat at the kitchen table, poking around puzzle pieces and wanting to say something to Antonio, but just not sure of what. There was something about the way that he was leaning on the counter that Lovino liked, something so _attractive_ that it almost hurt. Antonio's thin sweatshirt had ridden up slightly and his dark skin between his pant line and the sweatshirt on his hips was visible. He wanted to touch it, and forced himself to turn away.

Spit felt heavy and thick, like half-dried glue, against the back of his throat. _I need to get away from here,_ he thought, and even the voice in his head was starting to panic.

_No you don't. You_ want_ to stay. You_ like_ it here. You _like_ him because you're both fucking lunatics._

He picked up two pieces of red off the table and fit them together, the minor accomplishment lost in the rainstorm in his head. _No, I don't. I _hate_ him._ He grit his teeth.

_Yeah, whatever._

Part of the piece in his hand bent down against his thumb, the part jutting out in order to fit with another, and he didn't care. _He's insane._

_Yeah, well, maybe it's catching. Do your fucking puzzle, there's no hope for you._

The soup started to bubble in the pot behind him and he could hear the soft shushing sounds of moving clothes as Antonio moved to stir it. With his thumb and forefinger he bent the twisted puzzle piece back into place, thinking only about small pieces of dark, visible skin.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N****: **I've been waiting to write this chapter for awhile now, even if it's a little bit shorter than I'd like it to be. Thanks to everyone who took the time to review or add this to their favorites. Thank you so much.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine. There is a slight mention of a song. Bukowski by Modest Mouse. I do not own it.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language, violence, psychological/sociopathic tendencies

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
VII. Chapter 6

If there was something Lovino needed, it was good news; a hand extended in the name of kindness or a small favor for no particular reason. And on the Thursday of the following week, the week succeeding when Lovino was nearly gunned down in Smith's, he got just that. Antonio knocked on his door, knuckles _tok-tok-tok_-ing in the very early hours of the morning, and Lovino had to fight his way to the door through the chowder-esque thickness of the sleepy fog that had rolled in over the front of his eyes and on the conscious parts of his brain. The sun hadn't even poked the top of its round head over the horizon yet and the room was brisk and chilly. With eyelids that were weighted half-shut, Lovino opened the door and released an eloquent,

_"Nyuhh?"_

Antonio grinned back, the smile seeming a bit too large on his face. "'Morning!" he announced, and his voice was like a pin shooting through the top of Lovino's head. Hardly able to see and his legs, clad in dark blue boxer shorts and bare from the mid-thigh down, cold and uncomfortably exposed, he grumbled incoherently,

_"…I'ss still fucking dark out."_ The sky was navy in the square window behind him. It was so early that the usual bleeding red and orange colors had yet to bloom into the sky. Dark yellow light glowed from the kitchen. The sight of it was strangely nostalgic, and almost comforting. It reminded him of being a child and seeing a similar light in the morning as his mother opened the door to gently bring him into consciousness with the sound of her voice. It sort of made him feel like he should be going to school soon.

Sounding slightly crestfallen, as if he had assumed Lovino would be awake and alert early, Antonio lowered his voice a notch and said, "I thought you might want something to eat." He attempted to keep his face neutral, hold a smile back, but it brightened up his face and he laughed through his nose. "_And_ I have something to tell you."

Lovino rubbed his eyes and realized that his mouth tasted sour. It made him remember something he heard once about waking up with an unpleasant taste in your mouth meant during the night you'd ingested a spider. He swallowed, wanting to brush his teeth and deeply wishing that Antonio would just go away so he could use the bathroom and try to blink consciousness back into his head. "_Mmm, fine…I just gotta wake up. Go away._"

His face cheery, Antonio nodded vigorously. Excitedly. He stepped out of the way and let Lovino pass him to make his minuscule sojourn to the bathroom. "Just meet me in the kitchen when you're done, okay?" he said in an attempted neutral tone. Lovino said he would and closed the door. Sometimes Antonio was like a child. Cracking his knuckles and welcoming in the bathroom light, he thought _we__ll, there's nothing really wrong with that._

Antonio had made them bagels (he managed not to burn them and for that small achievement alone, Lovino wanted to just kiss him) along with a glass dish of butter and a jar of jam. Two large-sized glasses of orange juice sat at each of their places at the table, off-center because of the puzzle (now almost entirely finished; there was an uneven, jagged circle in the middle that was missing, but they speculated the night before that they ought to finish it the next day by dinner time) and filled so high that Lovino was afraid to pick his up in fear the juice would just slosh over the side and get all over everything. Lovino yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, and picked at the inside of his bagel.

Nibbling on a chunk of soft bread, he grunted lightly, still tired, "Thanks for not burning this to shit, 'Tonio." They both knew it was a rather crude way to thank him for breakfast. The other man shrugged his shoulders, no big deal, and managed to sip on his juice without spilling it. He was hardly eating at all, moving to sit on his hands as if they might spring loose and knock something over. Lovino suddenly remembered, the thought having slipped from his mental grasp as if it had been blown away, "Oh, what were you going to tell me?"

Hesitating, and gathering his thoughts as if he'd forgotten, although Lovino knew that was a load of bullshit; the man hadn't been able to sit still since they sat down. Whatever news he had to tell was twisting around inside him like a bunch of ferrets. Antonio began, "Um…I think it would be nice if I let our trust go to the next level." Lovino nearly choked on his breakfast and Antonio verbally edited his thought. "_No! _Oh, God, that sounded weird. I meant…" He played with the collar of his T-shirt. "…I meant, I think you should be able to have more freedom. Like, when I leave for the day and everything."

Lovino managed to swallow and, in a somewhat puzzled voice, asked, "What do you mean?" Surely Antonio wasn't letting him leave the house; he may have been a little nutty but he wasn't a complete idiot.

Pausing to gather his thoughts into a coherent sentence, Antonio continued with, "I think when I leave for work, like today…you should be able to, y'know, roam around the house and everything. I was up last night and I was thinking about it and, um…I just sort of realized that I trust you now. And I think you trust me." He added, "I mean, maybe you don't and that's fine." He waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought. "Things have just been going real…_well _lately. And I just think you deserve it."

Something jittery began underneath Lovino's skin, like little ants were tapping along his joints and nerves and tendons. A tiny, solid ball of warmth appeared in the center of his gut and gushed liquid into his veins. He wanted to hug Antonio, and he gripped the bottom of his chair to keep himself from getting up and doing so.

He stumbled over his words, tripping over them as if they were rocks. "Hey ... that's just- I mean- that's fucking great. " It felt as if whatever had tightened his brain against the solid walls of his skull had been sucked out with a vacuum, letting the organ float freely and blissfully in its cage. "…Antonio, I really … appreciate that." Antonio ripped his bagel in half and gnawed on the end, sheer, unadulterated joy radiating from him like heat.

"I just want to see you happy," he said with a half-full mouth. He swallowed, then added, "…It makes me happy. I…"

The man paused, mouth slightly open. Then, with a somewhat regretful look on his face, closed it. It didn't matter. Lovino knew what he was going to say anyway, and the thought no longer scared him.

.

Lovino felt like he was playing a video game (he called it, _Win Your Freedom: Version 2.0_), and it was composed of four levels. He suspected he was on level three: freely roam the house without consequences. Level one had been "stay confined in a tiny space for nearly a week (piss yourself for extra points!)" and level two had been "get a larger space, but be reduced to a lethargic, boring ball of mush for seven-or-so hours a day (have a horrifying flashback and lose a life)". The final level would probably be "be able to leave the house and not get shot or stabbed or beaten to death". He felt like he was making progress.

The best thing about the freedom, however, was not simply that he could move around or entertain himself; it was that he could take a piss whenever he needed to. As soon as that internal bell started ringing, warning him that the ridiculous amount of juice he'd ingest wanted out- and wanted out _now_- he strolled to the bathroom, concluding that it was the most exhilarating and liberating piss he'd ever taken. And if he ever got the chance to go back home, he'd never tell anyone; it was not an experience that could be contained in words.

As Lovino was washing his hands, the feeling of euphoria still being pumped out in little burst by his gleeful heart, his saw in the mirror above the sink that his hair was a mess. It had been almost a month since he'd begun living with Antonio, and in that time his quickly growing hair had grown about half an inch, regaining some of its natural wave it had lost when it was a bit shorter. It curled down by his ears and began to block his vision and the need to get it out of his face gnawed at him like a weasel. He looked around the bathroom, accustomed to having one of his combs sitting on the sink in his apartment.

"…'e's got to have a brush or _something_ in this shithole," he mumbled to himself, opening up the cabinet holding the mirror. There was a short bottle of shaving cream, a razor (which, surprisingly, Antonio had let Lovino use before to shave his face; he probably figured that if Lovino was desperate enough to kill himself with it then he probably deserved it, and a tiny razor wasn't much of a threat as a weapon, especially if he was wielding something much larger in return), deodorant, a comb (he grabbed it), and an unmarked orange bottle, like the kind used for holding medication. Through the translucent plastic Lovino could see there was something inside and he put the comb on the edge of the sink to pick up the bottle. The label had been ripped off.

Curiosity chewed at him and he untwisted the white cap. Inside was a small, plastic bag, and at first Lovino thought it might have been a dime big of pot. He picked it up with his thumb and forefinger, and found that inside the substance wasn't green and grassy. It was a white powder, filling half the small bag. Furrowing his eyebrows, he thought, _i__s this…Does Antonio do cocaine?_ But on the other side of the bag he noticed something writing in black marker, slightly faded. He turned the bag over and stretched the plastic to read it.

The bag said _Ketamine._

"What the hell is this…?" he murmured. Part of him wanted to take the powder onto his finger and rub it on his gums to see what it was, but from the several escapades he'd had involving drugs, he knew it was better to just leave his question unanswered. The name sounded familiar. Not as something he'd experimented with, but just as something he heard before. Ketamine. Clenching his eyes shut to think, he mused aloud, "…It sounds like … shit, I've heard of this before."

When the answer didn't come to him, he frustratingly shoved the bag back into the container and put both of them away. He closed the cabinet door and tried not to think about the drug sitting back there. He brushed his hair and left.

For a while, he curled up on the couch with a blanket and turned on the television, his feet cold but the rest of him much too lazy to go find a pair of socks to put on. The only things playing that early in the morning were daytime talk shows so he closed his eyes against the colors and let his mind drift somewhere else.

He wondered what Antonio was doing, and it occurred to him that he didn't exactly know what Antonio did at the store. Lovino figured that since he had to get there so early he must have been the manager or at least someone with a margin of authority. If he had the power, he'd have left to go visit him. Just to drop by and say hello, maybe start up a small conversation. Then they could go home together in Antonio's small, cluttered sedan. He'd even consider dropping him a line via telephone, ask for the number of the store through information, but Lovino had long since learned that the only source of outside connection Antonio had was through his cell phone, and that always stayed in his pocket. There were only five rooms in the house- kitchen, living room, Antonio's room, Lovino's room, and the bathroom- and Lovino had been in all of them; not to mention frantically searching for a phone or even computer when he had been desperate to escape and he found all cabinets or drawers that may contain something even slightly harmful locked.

Some obese woman on the television was crying on a talk show about how she once got stuck in her car and had to have two of her family members take fifteen minutes to push and pull her out. Lovino grimaced at her and wondered why they didn't just leave her in there until she lost enough weight to get out herself. He clicked the channel up button on the remote and landed on a commercial playing a song he knew and actually quite enjoyed. It occurred to him that he hadn't actually hadn't listened to any music for the few weeks he'd been living with Antonio, and the want to plug the white buds into his ears and just crank up the old songs he loved was kicked alive as if the songs had been filled with nicotine.

A song popped into his head as if someone had molded it into a nail and hammered it through his skull, and it reminded him of Antonio in a strangely pessimistic and cynical way. He wanted to chew on the words and swallow them so he might somehow understand them. _If God controls the land and disease and keeps a watchful eye on me … if he's really so damn mighty then my problem is I can't see … who would want to be such a control freak?_

Lovino liked that song, and he couldn't particularly remember who sang it, but he wanted to digest the lyrics. He wanted to know why he was thinking about them and why he was thinking about Antonio. They made him feel guilty and unappreciative. He snorted angrily at himself. He flipped the channel back to the talk show. He'd rather think cynical thoughts about strangers than about someone he knew.

Eventually the show ended and his feet went from too cold to too warm so he got up in search of something to do. All the board games required two or more people, he wasn't hungry enough to make anything to eat, there were only a few spoons in the sink so by the time he had cleaned them only six or seven minutes had past, and Antonio still wouldn't be home for another couple of hours. He made a mental note to hint to Antonio the next time the two of them were out to get a cheap Gameboy or something. He sat down at the kitchen table and started to group the last of the puzzle pieces into clusters based on color.

Two pieces fit together and he leaned his chin down onto the table. The clock on the wall above the sink clicked seconds away. Lovino wanted his iPod and he wanted Antonio there with him; if he could have, he'd have sat the man down next to him and plugged them both into his iPod, the two of them sharing a pair of ear buds and listening to songs that reminded them of things they liked.

An hour past and Lovino filled the gap in the middle of the puzzle. He wasted time doing nothing and waited like a puppy in the living room, excited at every sound that might have been someone coming home for him.

Antonio was home at the normal time, his hair looking windblown and his cheeks prominently pink against the dark color of his skin as he locked the door behind him. His hair looked particularly dark and thick, like he was something exotic. Lovino's heart grew a motor and pounded like a hummingbird's. He hopped off of the couch and glowered, begrudgingly welcomed Antonio home even though he had nothing to be angry about. A few seconds ticked by and his face relaxed to something neutral, and in a moment of mild audacity, he opened his arms and embraced Antonio's torso in a hug, his ear pressed against the taller man's chest, the shape of his body feeling unfamiliar. Antonio leaned his chin on Lovino's head.

"I didn't think you'd be happy to see me," Antonio said in a voice that could have been mistaken for something dejected. And Lovino thought to himself, feeling only slightly mortified, _Neither did I._ Antonio smelled like his own natural cologne and Lovino liked it. They separated and Lovino wanted to stick to him like a fly to honey.

"How'd you like your day around the house?" Antonio asked cheerily, removing the long, black coat he'd been wearing and shook his head like a dog shaking off water. "Ugh, it's getting cold…" He threw the coat onto the settee haphazardly, not seeming to care if it actually made it there or not.

Lovino followed behind him like a child and he was sure if he had a tail it would have been wagging. "It wasn't that bad," he explained, stopping on the edge of the carpet and linoleum as Antonio wandered into the kitchen. "Um, I got kind of bored as all hell but uh, ya know, that happens when there's no one around." Antonio dragged his fingers along the kitchen table as he past it, his movements seeming effervescent and delicate. He moved over to the pantry and opened to door, squishing up his nose as he looked for something to eat.

"Glad to hear it made you happy," he responded a little blankly, looking up to the top of the pantry and finally reaching for the third can of soup they'd ingested that week. He looked it over real quick, then shrugged and headed over to grab a pot from one of the lower cupboards.

But on his way across the room, he stopped. For a moment he just stood there in a firm pause, the red and white can of Campbell's soup held firmly in his hand. He turned towards the kitchen table and looked down at their puzzle.

After a moment of quiet, he said, "You finished the puzzle." Lovino didn't move, just sort of examined Antonio standing there.

"Uh…yeah," he agreed simply. "When you were gone. What did you honestly think I was going to do all day…? Boring as shit…"

Antonio touched the place where the puzzle had once had the jagged hole. He said quietly, "…I thought we might've finished it together." He kept his hand on the spot, long fingers outstretched. Lovino felt a sudden heat wave of embarrassment.

"Oh..." he breathed. He held out his hands as if they might, for whatever reason, hold Antonio back. "…Well, dammit, we can always get another one." The other man didn't move for a few breaths. When he did, he closed his hand into a fist, then turned around and set the can down onto the island counter top. Lovino felt his insides shudder and he asked nervously, "…You okay, Antonio?"

The other man reached in the cabinet and pulled out the metal tea kettle, filling it with water at the sink. The water made echoing splashes inside the metal. "No, don't worry about it," he answered dully. "You're right, we'll get another puzzle." He turned the gas burner on and set the kettle on it. "I'm fine."

_He'll be okay,_ Lovino thought and he turned away from Antonio, stepping further into the living room. _He's been doing better lately._ He took another step, scratching the back of his head.

The can of soup exploded against the wall beside his head.

A hole in the side of the can burst open as it hit the wall and bits of thick, condensed matter flew at Lovino like shrapnel. Out of instinct he ducked down, a bit too late then, and spun around, clutching the top of his head. Antonio stood, his fists clenched at his sides, seething as if there were snakes in the back of his throat.

Lovino screamed, "_ANTONIO!_" but Antonio grabbed the heavy teakettle off the stove with both hands and flung it across the room at Lovino with a loud grunt of, "_YOU BITCH!_" The metal hit the right side of the walkway and wood splintered and flew. Antonio gripped his hair with his fists and roared as if he might be pulling it out by the roots. He stomped forward and made a sobbing sound, Lovino running back towards the front door, hunched over and gripping his head to avoid being hit with something projectile. He twisted the handle but Antonio had locked the door with a key and it wouldn't open. Antonio stumbled into the room, heaving and panting like an angry bull.

He pointed at Lovino, his hand just dangling on the end of his arm as if he didn't want to exert the energy to erect it. "You're such shit," he growled, huffing and hanging his head.

Lovino flipped around, his back against the door and shook his head. "No, Antonio, stop, what the fuck are you talking about?!" he cried, twisting the door handle behind him, hoping it would break and he could fling the door open. "_Antonio, shit, don't do anything, just calm down._" Antonio scooped up the remote control from the settee and made an overhand hurl at Lovino. The plastic hit him across the shoulder and pain exploded like an atomic bomb across the upper left part of his body.

"_YOU HATE ME!_" Antonio wailed at him, throwing his arms back and leaning forward as if to amplify his voice. "_FUCK YOU! I GIVE YOU EVERYTHING AND YOU HATE ME FOR IT!_" He grabbed the edge of the coffee table and flipped it over with an immense groan, and the glass splintered across the surface in a spider's web. His face was flushed and wet and he clawed at his arms as if he wanted to remove the skin. "_I_ hate_ you! I hope you _die!"

Lovino slid down the door and pulled his knees to his chest, extending his uninjured arm in a protective gesture. He whimpered, "No, you don't, Antonio. I don't hate you! Fuck! Please, for the love of God, I'm sorry, I don't hate you!" Antonio sobbed to himself, trembling and clutching his hair again like a child having a violent tantrum. He whipped his head around.

"_NO!_" he cried. "No, you're lying! I _hate_ you!" He stepped over the overturned table towards Lovino and the smaller man kicked backward, trying to force himself into the wall, clawing at the door.

"_No, no, no, Antonio! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!_" He tried to kick at Antonio but the taller man grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet and shoved his cheek against the wall. Lovino wriggled and tried to worm his way out of Antonio's grasp but he was pinned so tight that he was sure that the bones in his face might fracture. Antonio pulled Lovino's body away from the wall and slammed him back against it. He felt warmth flood his mouth and his teeth ached.

"You _make_ me do things to you!" he growled through his teeth. "I _hate you!_ I _hate_ you!"

Lovino could feel bruises forming, his right eye swelling shut. "_No, Antonio, no,_" he pleaded in nothing louder than a whimper. "_Please, please, fuck, let me go…_" He was flipped around and Antonio dragged him by the wrist. He let out a cry as he nearly tripped over the coffee table, trying to tug his arm away, afraid it might dislocate. His sweating feet stuck to the linoleum and Antonio jerked him forward, holding him around the shoulder. In a minute, they were back in Antonio's bedroom, standing in front of the closet. The door flung open and Antonio spun Lovino around to face him.

In a large shove, Antonio pushed Lovino into the back of the closet, the shorter man's head slamming against the back wall. Antonio grasped the door and the frame, leaning his upper body into the space and screamed,

"_YOU CAN_ ROT_ IN HERE!"_

He slammed the door shut. In the bedroom outside the door, Antonio cried at the top of his lungs while Lovino spit out blood and the teeth from the back of his mouth.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N****: **I lied last chapter. _This _chapter is short. Like...really short. I'm sorry. I realized I didn't like how I was setting up the chapter and my time was cut short so I kind of cut it up and had to rewrite some parts and I ended up with this short thing. All the important shit is _next _chapter, after this. Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews and favorites! Last chapter got the most so far, and I swear I have the best reviewers because you all write such long, lovely reviews. I love you people.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine. And neither is the Hulk. Just saying.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
VIII. Chapter 7

There was a terrible, bleeding hole where the second to last molar should have been and his tongue moved around in the rusty-flavored gum, flopping through the indent in the soft, squishy flesh. He held the tooth in his hand, and moaned in utter horror, ready to scream and flail at the piece of him that had been ripped from his body. The sharp roots scraped across his thumb and his open mouth bled onto his palm, making his hand sticky and warm. With his tongue he could feel that the other molar- the tooth in the very far back of his mouth- was wriggling loose and the thought of vomiting up all his teeth until he was nothing but gums sent him into a tantrum of panic. He flailed against the door, tooth still clutched firm in the center of his now closed fist, his cries existing in harmony with Antonio's.

"_LET ME OUT, HOLY SHIT, ANTONIO, PLEASE, I HAVE TO GET TO A DOCTOR!_" As he screamed, he bled over his mouth and sprayed his mixture of spit and blood over the door. He hacked, gagging on the copper taste and the thickness of the coagulating fluid, and spit an enormous drop onto the carpet. Lovino whimpered, sobbing into the arm held up against the door, and shouted into the darkness, his body tensing as he forced all his air out into the cry for help. "_HELP ME, HELP ME, PLEASE! ANTONIO, PLEASE HELP ME!_"

Somewhere else in the house Antonio screamed again; he screamed at the top of his voice, crying as if he was being murdered, the sound becoming raspy as his vocal chords were strained. He didn't scream words, just a horrible, terrifying sound over and over again, and Lovino couldn't help but join him. The tooth poking painful holes in his skin, he remembered crying when his tooth fell out when he was five years old and his mother telling him in an impatient voice that it was going to grow back. But it wasn't going to grow back now because Antonio had knocked it clean out of his skull.

Mid-scream, his stomach lurched and he choked on the need to vomit, trying to hold it back down his throat with invisible hands. He could taste his own bile as his body tried to force it back up; reverse peristalsis, perpetual, throbbing pain. And if he threw up he'd be forced to sit in it if … until Antonio would let him out. A little moan shook him and he thought he might be violently sick despite himself.

Lovino felt around the rest of his teeth with his tongue, and some of the tension in his body subsided when no other teeth were loose. The side of his face that Antonio had slammed into the wall was swollen, his right eye rendered completely useless by the enflamed tissue, and felt as if it had been hit with a brick. He reached up to touch it and whimpered pathetically at the explosion of pain that occurred when his fingers brushed the bruises. Everything hurt; from his face to his bruised shoulder to his pride. He wanted to go back in time and pull the pieces out from the puzzle. Then he and Antonio could sit at the kitchen table together and fiddle around with pieces that didn't match until everything was perfect again.

Antonio was still screaming outside, although the outbursts were becoming less frequent, with more periods of silent in between. Lovino could hear him sobbing during the silences and at one point heard him make a similar gagging sound to the one he himself had made earlier. The idea that Antonio could spontaneously rip open the door and shoot or stab him to death occurred to him and he shrunk away from the door, feeling afraid and betrayed.

He spit up another mouthful of gore and grabbed a handful of the pillow still left in there, pressing the fabric into the back of his mouth, holding it against the sensitive, bleeding gum. Breathing heavily through his nose, he was surprised Antonio hadn't tried to break it again. The pillow hindered the bleeding, but didn't stop the pain from pulsing, coming and going like waves on sand. He shuddered and spit out another, smaller, mouthful of blood. It was slowing down. He calmed himself, his breath steady but the rest of his body trembling violently. Antonio's screaming had faded to sobs and whimpers.

It took somewhere around fifteen minutes for the stream of blood to be reduced to a thin trickle and by then all the sounds in the small house had been muted. He pulled the fabric of the pillow out of his mouth, a tiny, mucus-y line connected from the pillow to the inside of his mouth, the cloth now sticky and heavy. Hacking to clear his throat, Lovino attempted to raise his voice. Through a groan, he called out,

"…Ant-… Antonio?" He said the word nervously, calling out like a scared child calling to their parents in the other room in the middle of the night. His tongue felt odd in his mouth without the tooth there but luckily it was so far back that it didn't hinder his speech too significantly. He picked up his voice again, increasing the volume through the fluid in his throat. "…Antonio, are you there?"

If he was there, he didn't answer. Lovino pressed his ear against all four walls, listening in each direction for the rustling sound of moving clothes or the raspy sound of breathing. There was nothing. Antonio had left him with no food or water, with a knocked out tooth and a swollen face in a bloody, dusty closet. With his hands against the door, tooth settled in the bottom of his pocket, he wanted Antonio to come back; not just as a person who could let him out of the cramped space or save him from bleeding to death, but as someone who could protect and care for him when no one else could.

.

After nearly ten hours, Lovino's mouth had become laced with the bitter taste of metal, as if a sheet of copper had been molded around every crevice and hill of the cavern. From the tip of his tongue to the very pit of his esophagus he was thirsty, feeling like someone had taken a ball of cotton and swabbed out his inside of any moisture. He stopped calling for help three hours ago, when his throat gave a gravelly croak midway through a cry. He stopped pawing and pounding at the door because it felt like he'd been hit by a truck. Antonio was lean and average height, but when he lost himself in the back of his head he was as strong as an ox; strong enough to flip over a table and beat Lovino near senseless. There must have been a hidden storage of adrenaline somewhere in his body because Lovino couldn't imagine how he became so aggressive so quickly.

_Maybe he's like the incredible Hulk,_ Lovino thought through the thunderstorm of heat and dehydration. _And I made him angry so he got super strong. Maybe he's really Ed Norton and I'm really Liv Tyler and __tomorrow__ morning we'll win an Oscar…_

He hiccuped and snickered. _No, that's fucking stupid. The Hulk didn't win an Oscar…_

Lovino had been sure that Antonio would have come back within the first couple of hours- five, maybe seven at most- but he could gauge by the thirst and the pain that it had been at least twelve. Rain came, _tip-tap_-ing like children's fingers on the roofs and windows, and Lovino remembered a weather report mentioning rain in the very early morning. He wanted the roof to open up, to fly off, and he would open his dry mouth so the rain might drip into it.

His muscles ached and pounded and he imagined broken bones and torn ligaments that might never heal; he feared infection, remembering and reliving his childhood dread of being eaten in pieces by insects. He imagined a writhing cluster of minuscule opaque worms pulsing in and out of the place where his tooth had once been.

Hunger came but he knew it was just thirst under the guise of hunger, his body trying to confuse or distract him from the pain of dehydration. His head was a throbbing wound, an enormous bleeding bruise constricting the blood flow to his brain. If he died, no one would find him because they had not found him while he was alive. No one was coming because no one cared.

Several more hours past and eventually he just passed out, unconsciousness enveloping him like an old blanket made of wool. There were no holes to let in light; just blackness. And he dreamed of nothing.

Needles and the legs of walking stick insects poked holes in his throat. The rain was gone but the pain came back, like a pile of rocks held above his head in a rope net finally gave and stoned him. Consciousness brought awareness of the pain, awareness of thirst and hunger and loneliness. He was too afraid to raise his arm and touch his fingers against the swollen part of his face; afraid of the pain and afraid that it might be even worse than before. The tooth sat snugly between the fabrics of his pocket.

Antonio had been gone for so long, and by the time Lovino had the energy to think about it, it had been either a little before or after twenty-four hours. With his fingers crawling up and down the door like a lethargic spider he thought that maybe Antonio had just given up and died. Probably gone somewhere where he could overdose on the unknown medicine in the bathroom cabinet or put a bullet in the back of his throat. Thick tears made pearl-shapes in the corner of Lovino's eyes and he wanted to lick at them as they dripped down his face. He imagined Antonio laying down to die in a dirty bed and all at once the dam holding back the sob in his throat cracked and burst and he leaned his forehead against the door and wept.

His muscles clenched and were sore as he cried but he cried anyway. He tried to weep out the guilt and the physical pain. Neither of them went away, they just made sticky tracks down the front of his face.

Eventually he just slumped against the door, ready to listen for sounds that would never come, and let himself either slide back into unconsciousness or die. He didn't care which because it didn't matter.

.

This time he did dream. He dreamed that he and Antonio were sitting in the swing seats of a Ferris wheel. June bugs lay dead underneath their seats and below them people ran with plastic cones of pink and blue cotton candy. The smell of fried dough swirled around them and summer warmed the backs of their arms. Antonio stood up in his seat and looked over the open side of their seat, holding onto the metal bar behind his chair. He put his feet up onto the door, the right and then the left, and stared down onto the concrete, his dark hair flying around his head. The sun was painted burnt orange and raspberry. Lovino stood beside him and as Antonio stepped off the edge Lovino reached into his mouth and threw his teeth down after him.

.

Sounds came. Lovino could hear them, coming in from the hallway and stopping outside the door. He heard them through cotton and cellophane. The door opened and he looked up with his eyes wet and wide, his face swollen and bruised. He trembled, his knees beneath him and his arms keeping him supported. He spoke, but didn't hear it. _I thought you'd died._

"Are you ready to come out?"

The voice spoke and Lovino reached for it, like a moth reaching for a beautiful, burning light.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N****: **I'm glad I had most of this written because it's early and I'm sleepy and it's impossible to write something so serious when my friend is talking to me about banana milk and beer and rice and she has no idea I'm writing this and just no. Anyway, thanks again for such lovely reviews and favorites and such! This is the longest chapter I've written so far and I feel pretty happy about it. You know, I hope Lovino isn't too terribly out of character. I feel like I used fuck more often than I should've. I mean, fuck, did I use fuck too often? I don't fucking know. I'm sorry if I did. And, this is really random, but if anyone is willing to, can I have some music to listen to? I just keep listening to the same stuff over and over and I get sick of it but I would seriously appreciate any music if you guys have any. Like...PM it to me or in a review or not at all, it's all good, but I just wanted to ask.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language, mention of drug abuse

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
IX. Chapter 8

Antonio wiped the blood from Lovino's cheek with a dark washcloth soaked in warm water, his face expressionless, if not a little somber. Lovino held onto the edges of the bathroom sink, head bowed, not wanting to look at the disfigurement the swelling had caused to the side of his face. With the cloth between his fists, Antonio wrung the water out into the sink and rinsed it again.

"Do you know why I put you in there?" he asked monotonously, as if he didn't expect a correct answer or even an answer at all. He pushed Lovino's bangs out of his face and wiped his forehead gently. Muttering to himself he added quietly, "…_going to need to get you some ice…_"

Lovino didn't answer, he just clutched to edges of the sink as if the glue holding him together might dissolve and the fragmented pieces of him would slip apart. Everything was so horribly fragile, so thin and empty and delicate. He shook his head at the question, his throat sore from screaming and rough from lack of water; silently he hoped Antonio would bring him a glass of water and he found himself trying to send the other man mental images of water. Running the material under Lovino's mouth and chin, where the most blood had caked over, Antonio said in a soft voice,

"You were trying to leave me. You were trying to separate yourself from me."

He wrung out the cloth. Some of the water was brown.

Lovino shook his head hard and clenched his eyes shut, his face weak and desperate. "_No,_" he choked, his voice coming out like a dry wind. "_Dammit, __I was just…_" He coughed, feeling as if someone was dragging their nails up and down his throat, and Antonio set down the washcloth. He left and came back with a glass of water, which Lovino gulped down with trembling hands, not caring if some of it spilled down his chin and onto his sweat and blood stained T-shirt. Antonio patiently waited for him to finish drinking, then returned to grooming him, turning Lovino to face him and holding the other man's chin.

"I know you think you weren't," Antonio continued, cleaning off Lovino's neck. The hand on his chin was gentle and caring, like a mother to a child. His tone mimicked the same pseudo-maternal care. "But I know…Lovino, I wasn't mad because you finished our puzzle. I was mad because you went on and left without me. And if I didn't…_do_ something then one day you'd just leave me all together."

"_No,_" Lovino whimpered and he felt like a child. "I was just finishing our fucking puzzle. I'm _sorry_. I would never _leave you_, Antonio." The other man picked up a second, dry washcloth, a yellow one, and dried off Lovino's face.

"Do you mean that?" he asked, and this time his voice was laced with some emotion that Lovino couldn't exactly pick out. It was maybe hopeful, and perhaps even just a little sad. Lovino nodded slowly, his neck sore, aching from leaning against the door for so long. Holding the material against Lovino's skin for a moment, Antonio seemed to be looking at him, but not seeing him; his eyes were gazing off into somewhere far away as he thought. Lovino imagined the inside of Antonio's mind not like a machine, but like a blue and grey cloud of ideas. If Antonio was lucky, one might strike down in the form of lightning and land on his tongue so he might either use it or store it someplace safe for. When he came back, the hand holding the cloth dropped to his side, the fingers around Lovino's chin still in place. He leaned in and kissed Lovino gently on his unwounded cheek.

"Come on," he said and his voice was tired. "Let's get you some ice."

In the living room, Lovino held the second plastic baggy filled with ice that he'd had since living with Antonio against the side of his face. He could almost hear his skin cells sigh in relief. The house had been cleaned since he had last been out; the coffee table had been replaced by a new wooden one (he briefly wondered when Antonio had done that) and the soup stains had been scrubbed off the wall. The bite-like chunk missing from the wooden frame of the walkway was conspicuous, but the fragments of wood had been thrown away. Antonio returned from the kitchen with another glass of water and sat down next to Lovino, flipping the TV on. The room was dark except for the flashing lights.

The taller man put the tip of his thumb in his mouth and asked, "How're you doing?"

Pulling off the bag of ice for a moment and looking down at it, Lovino could see in the limited light where some of the partially-healed wounds had bled onto the plastic and he felt like crying. "…I'm fine."

"How's your mouth?" Antonio didn't look at him; he just looked at the floor beneath the television. Lovino dully said that it was fine but Antonio clenched his eyes shut and bit down on his thumb. For a moment, Lovino thought he might bite clean through the skin. "I'm sorry, Lovino. I hate doing stuff like that but you know how I get…" His teeth clicked through the nail and for a horrific moment Lovino thought Antonio had actually bitten the top of his thumb off. He doubled over in his seat as if his insides were in agony. "_God, Lovino, I'm so sorry._"

Placing the ice back on his bruises, Lovino replied softly, but not entirely honestly, "It's okay. Things happen."

For a few minutes, Antonio sat doubled over. He held his head in between his hands as if he might be trying to squeeze it into submission. Lovino wanted to touch him, wanted to lean over and wrap his arms around Antonio's torso and feel the shape of his body, but held himself in place, afraid it would be awkward or dangerous. He looked small and delicate in the limited light, his lengthy fingers pressing into his ribs. When Antonio sat up again, he sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hand and if he'd actually been crying or not, Lovino couldn't tell. He turned to Lovino and asked, "Can I see where your tooth is gone?" Lovino hesitantly nodded and pulled back the side of his lip, his face dragged into a grimace. He felt like a fish on a hook.

Antonio squinted and tilted his head to the side, examining the inside of Lovino's mouth with concern and alleviating guilt. "I think it'll be okay…" he mused softly, cupping his hand under Lovino's jaw. He leaned in to get a closer look. "You can hardly see that it's gone, anyway." He bit down on his lip and his eyes glazed over with something sad. In nothing more than a whisper, he muttered, "_I'm sorry._" Lovino let go of his lip and said that it was okay. Really, it was. Let it fucking go already. Antonio's free hand drifted over to Lovino's shoulder, his right hand still underneath Lovino's jaw.

Shadows played across Antonio's face, coming and going as the lights from the television changed. His features looked so sharp, almost statuesque, all except for his eyes which were round and boyish- thoughtful, even. Very slightly, Antonio opened his mouth, parting his soft-looking lips with a nearly inaudible wet sound, just enough to say, "_The swelling's going down."_And for a moment Lovino didn't even know what he meant because all of his focus was on the near invisible movements of Antonio's lips. He wanted to touch them.

And if Antonio had moved any closer, even by only an inch or so, Lovino would have touched them; he would have experimented with the hormone and stress-induced curiosity with his mouth against Antonio's, just for a moment or two or five, so he could live with the knowledge and satisfaction that he had done something daring, maybe even something a little…pleasurable (if he let himself admit it). His life balanced on the tips of Antonio's chewed-down nails, wobbling at the slightest breeze, never mind the gale-force winds Antonio spewed while in a tantrum, so if he wanted to dabble in the homoerotic then fuck it, he was going to. But Antonio didn't lean closer or even make a slight movement Lovino could pretend to mistake for as an attempted kiss; his hands, warm and firm, just held their places on his shoulder and neck and in the very depths of his stomach, or maybe even farther back into the place he might call his soul, he wished Antonio would just give in and suck face already.

The hands on his neck and face slipped away like pieces of silk and Antonio made a sort of resigned sigh; maybe disappointed in himself or the situation, or just tired from his outside to his inside. He turned back to the television and leaned his elbow on his knee and his chin on the heel of his hand, looking both bored and moderately depressed. Lovino pressed the bag of ice firmly against his swollen eye, the cold seeming to soak through the skin all the way to his aching, exhausted brain. He nearly drowned himself in his glass of water, feeling so painfully dehydrated that it seemed like he might never recover back to full health. With his mouth sore, mildly painful like day-old braces, he asked innocuously,

"So, where'd the fuck you go last night?"

Next to him, Antonio furrowed his eyebrows in the harsh light flashing from the screen, confused. "Last night?" he asked in a puzzled tone. He blinked thoughtfully.

Lovino paused, waiting for his answer. When it didn't come, he continued with, "Yeah, when I was...I mean, you must have gone somewhere." He tried to take his attention off of Antonio, tried to stop staring at the back of his head, into the forest of uncombed hair. The other man shook his head and answered a little bit too casually,

"Lovino, I haven't been here for two days."

The shorter man felt as if he'd suddenly been carved out of wood and the thirst in the back of his throat became a sharp, prominent need; like the nails of a cat contracting and retracting against the soft flesh of his esophagus. Through a breath he murmured, "_Oh._" and Antonio cocked his head to the side slightly.

With his eyes only half-lidded, Antonio continued, "...You must have been out for a while...Longer than before, which is weird..." Switching the bag, now mostly miniature icebergs swimming in a sea of cold water, to another part of his face, Lovino asked, _Last time I was in the closet?_ and the younger man shook his head. "No," he explained. "A few weeks ago. The first time you slept for only a couple of hours and this time you didn't even take anything and you managed to stay out for...I dunno, probably a day..."

The bottle in the bathroom was _Ketamine_ and suddenly Lovino remembered where he'd heard the name. When he had been younger, probably only fourteen because he'd been in the eighth grade, he was required to take a health class. Back then, Health was really a red alarm blaring racy music and a green and purple neon sign that screamed _Sex Ed!_ Half the class was based on things you shouldn't do (_have sex_) and things you should do (_not have sex_), generally somewhat biased in favor of the girls.

This was proven so when their (female) teacher began teaching them about date-rape. Lovino wasn't so desperate or scummy to let himself sink to date-raping a girl he knew for a quick lay, but it wasn't as if he didn't know some guys who would. Their teacher mostly lectured the girls about watching their drinks at parties and staying close to other female friends in case they were falling over themselves with drug-induced sluttiness.

One of the drugs he remembered being mentioned was _Ketamine._ The name was odd and something he'd never heard before and it shouldn't have stuck out among the other more familiar date-rape drugs like Ruphynol. But now that he had come face-to-face with it in his captor's bathroom cabinet, it stuck out in his mind like a tack out of a smooth, wooden floor. Ketamine was use as a sedative tool for veterinarians and was legal outside the United States. It wasn't hard to get, wasn't hard to disguise; it tasted bitter but if put in an already bitter beer, it wasn't like anyone was going to notice. Lovino stared off into space. It looked like cocaine.

He let weight of their conversation sit between them like a cinder block. If Antonio felt any guilt or noticed anything wrong, he kept his mouth shut and his eyes dull and blank. Very quickly the taller man added into the silence,

"...You almost overdosed, too. I thought you might of kicked the bucket or something during the night." A smile peeked around his mouth as if shy. "But everything's okay. You were fine, obviously."

Lovino wasn't fine. But it had nothing to do with drugs.

Again Antonio spoke, he tone suggesting that it was the end of the subject, that his input had reached his end. "I'm glad I did," he concluded, as if to himself. "If I hadn't, we wouldn't be together." He smirked and giggled a little to himself. "We're such a sappy romance novel, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Lovino agreed, but not truthfully. He could open his right eye now and he looked down at Antonio's back, the light seeming far too bright. "We are." Without speaking, he considered the word _romance._ Maybe the two of them, separate of the situation, were a romance novel. A B-list, paperback romance novel in the back of Target for Lovino's middle-aged mother to read when she wasn't missing her sons or angry at her ex-husband. Yes, then they were nothing but romance. But back in their corner of the Earth, they were a murder mystery; a horror, a 500-page novel by Stephen King. The two of them were the wrong characters inside the wrong plot. Or at least he was; Antonio seemed perfectly content where he was: as the unknowing antagonist in something he'd rather not be a part of.

The ice had melted inside its plastic bag and Antonio said it was probably time to go to bed. Lovino didn't disagree. He just slipped into his bedroom after quickly whispering _goodnight_, wishing he could curl himself in Antonio's sheets, holding his head against the other man's chest like they were a dog-eared copy of a perfectly edited romance novel.

.

As days blended and became faded around the edges, melting together like candies left in the sun, and the days of warmth cooled into days of pink cheeks and black and grey scarves, the negative consequences for getting on Antonio's angry and depressed side grew more and more scarce as Lovino learned what actions to avoid. They always ate together, Lovino staving off hunger during the day by drinking bottles and bottles of water so he could join Antonio in an evening meal; they did all their leisurely activities side-by-side, enjoying each other's company as if nothing was frightening and nothing was distorted.

The house was kept immaculate, compliments of Lovino, who grew fearful of Antonio coming home frustrated and cold after a day of work to find some scrap of whatever lying out of place. He found an old, rough sponge under the kitchen sink and found himself scrubbing each tile on the kitchen floor, partially due to boredom and partially due to the need to keep Antonio happy. The punishments that he sometimes received were growing scarce, but also growing in intensity, although lacking in obvious violence. When Lovino one day offered to leave the house to grab the mail from the end of the drive way, Antonio let him walk to the mailbox but locked him out in his bare feet as he tried to re-enter the house, the freshly fallen layer of snow turning his toes red. He had hopped onto the concrete porch, dancing back and forth on the balls of his feet in a feeble attempt to fend off frostbite. After an hour and a half of shivering and swearing and fighting back tears, Antonio opened the door and handed him a thick blanket. They drank hot chocolate on the couch.

After Lovino answered the door one night when they ordered out for dinner, Antonio grabbed a heavy book and knocked him completely unconscious while his back was turned. He awoke a few hours later in his own bed with a throbbing headache and a warm cup of tea next to his bed, along with an apologetic note from Antonio. He had drawn a picture of a cartoon heart at the bottom of the paper in red pen. The next morning he made them French toast and petted the bruises on Lovino's head with a tender and loving affection.

But, save for the few incidents, their relationship, as well as Antonio's mood, had become more stable; less like a rocky hill and more like a grassy plain. Lovino found himself thinking about Antonio as he Windexed the windows, spending his hours thinking of ways to make him happy, wondering if the other man was thinking about him in the same way. As he scrubbed the dishes clean, obsessively picking at stains that weren't there, he wished that he could do more, feeling useless and lazy while Antonio worked, like a leech sucking the life out of his host. Antonio would come home and say something nice about how the house looked and the heaviness in Lovino's head and chest would disappear, thinning like a cured head cold.

Snow came heavily, falling in miniature blizzards, as the end of November came, bringing grey, omniscient-looking clouds and uncomfortable weather. As the holidays approached, Lovino vaguely and hopefully wondered if Antonio celebrated Christmas, wanting to but apprehensive about asking if maybe they could find a tree and decorate it, just for fun. Or maybe for togetherness. The idea made Lovino feel as if he'd been filled with warm water.

Lovino scraped at a sticky piece of something on the kitchen, scratching irritably at it with his nail. The tip of his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. Antonio sipped on his mug of coffee, both hands around the cup, and he seemed to be watching Lovino chip away at the table with his head cocked slightly to the side. In a puzzled voice he asked,

"What are you doing?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, a crease forming between the lines of hair above his eyes like a wrinkle in a sheet. He snarled, "...Fucking piece of shit, I fucking hate it when the place isn't clean." Quickly altering the subject, he said, "Um, are we going do Christmas or something? I mean, it's December now. I don't know how you feel about it or anything." Antonio shrugged on the other side of the table, hunched forward slightly, his shoulders raised.

"Ah, well, I dunno," he mused, shrugging, and Lovino stopped picking at the table momentarily (mentally planning the assassination of the speck) and watched the other man thinking. He felt a tiny cloud of butterflies quiver inside him as Antonio looked off to the side, musing over the idea. "I haven't celebrated Christmas since I was little. Like, maybe eleven or twelve. I sort just was on my own after that and never stuck around to see what the family was up to during the holidays." He rubbed the septum of his nose with the side of his index finger before returning his hand back to the warmth of the mug. "...I guess we could do something if you want. I don't know what your whole stance is on the 'Christmas _Hey-Zues_ resurrection thing'."

Lovino snickered and went back to scraping at the table, both vaguely amused and aggravated that he couldn't keep the place tidy. "I'm not really a religious person…used to be Catholic but…" he trailed off before continuing. "i just thought Christmas was a...you know, "together" time. Not really a biblical figure time." The speck flaked off and Lovino was tempted to get up and do a happy, victorious jig. He shyly looked back up at Antonio. "But, uh, yeah, I'd like to do something with you. Maybe get a tree or something." Antonio nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed with a calm sense of bliss washing over his face like water over sand. He took another sip of his coffee and exhaled. "I'd like that a lot."

Antonio stretched his lean legs under the table, his naked toes touching Lovino's, and Lovino felt a pleasurable shiver travel through the tips of his toes where their skin met up to his middle. He sat up straight in his chair, retracting his feet as if they were dirty and might somehow contaminate the other man. The clock ticked behind them.

"Here," he offered quickly, standing up and moving over to Antonio's side of the table. "Give me your damn mug." He stood beside the older man, who nodded and quickly and audibly gulped down the last of his morning drink. Lovino reached down to take it, the white mug speckled with a black pattern resembling paint, and his hand brushed Antonio's, fingers tracing over tendons. The jolt came back, more intense, and for a moment he felt afraid; afraid that he might do something stupid and ruin a perfectly good morning for them both. Antonio appeared to notice but didn't seem to care as much as Lovino did, he just held his hand in place and waited for Lovino to get over his momentary paralysis.

But for whatever reason, Lovino didn't want to just grab the mug and walk away. He felt like he owed Antonio something; he lived in the man's house, wore the clothes that he gave him, ate the meals he provided. For the past few months he had been nothing but a parasite, a tick who occasionally gave Antonio trouble. And maybe it was out of guilt or the fact that he felt it was his duty as a guest, or maybe just because he wanted to, but he leaned down and very quickly pressed his lips against Antonio's cheek with an audible _smeck_-ing sound before rushing away to the sink to clean, heat creeping up his neck and feeling like an excited high school student who had just done something daring.

On the other side of the room, Antonio sat silently, and if he was making a face of recognition, Lovino was too afraid to look and find out. His arms and legs shook, a familiar sensation that made him feel unstable, but this time around it wasn't because he was afraid he was going to be hit or stabbed or shot. He shook with excitement and maybe just a little pride. Turning his head so Antonio wouldn't see, he bit his lip in an attempt to hold a grin back.

The chair squealed against the floor as Antonio stood up and groaned again as he pushed it back into its place at the table. His footsteps were slow and light across the linoleum, approaching Lovino (he became a little nervous momentarily, very slightly afraid that he had done something wrong, and prepared himself mentally and physically for an outburst) from the side. Lovino didn't raise his head, he just kept looking down at the dishes he was scrubbing, his fingers becoming wrinkled with the osmosis. On the side of his face, he felt warmth, softness, and he became aware that Antonio was kissing him, just holding his lips there with his hands delicately on Lovino's shoulders. The shorter man's T-shirt suddenly felt very thin, his unclothed legs, only covered by his boxer shorts, very naked and exposed. He wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable or not and he found that he really didn't mind anyway.

He didn't turn to kiss Antonio back, even though a small fragment of him wanted to. Instead, he let the taller man pull away, the moisture and heat of his kiss still against his skin. All of Lovino felt so guilty, but in such a good, healthy way. It was as if that's what his body needed to heal; a good experience in the romantic. He heard Antonio turn back to the living room and slip on his shoes by the front door. There was a rustling sound as he put on his coat and Lovino wanted to tell him, _Come on, don't leave. You can stay here with me._

"I'm going," Antonio called from the other room. Lovino called back, _Okay. Don't fucking die or crash or something. _And something stopped him from adding _I love you_ and he wished it wouldn't have. The door creaked open and the rushing sound of the cold wind outside reached him. As Antonio shut the door, it groaned. He wanted to open it back up and tell him to come back. He didn't.

His hands were covered in bubbles from soap. He stood there for several minutes, not even washing anything anymore; just sort of replaying his actions and thoughts in his head, rewinding the parts he particularly liked or didn't understand. At last he sighed and bowed his head, his fingers drifting across the place where Antonio had placed his closed lips.

"I'm losing my mind."

.

It occurred to him, seemingly out of nowhere, that he didn't really consider himself a captive anymore; a hostage held in the name of fighting schizophrenic loneliness. Lovino considered himself a house guest; a cousin long since forgotten staying over Antonio's house for a little while until maybe he would just move in. The idea that he was being kept there against his will, nearly every freedom he'd ever known stopping at the door as if they'd been cut with wires, faded away with the bruises on his face. It fell out with his missing tooth. The pain had simply numbed over.

If he wanted to leave he could. He could find a way to break open the window and go, even through the snow. If he had to steal a jacket or some blankets, he could. Town was far, but not so far that if he really wanted to get there he couldn't. Maybe even, if he was feeling dangerous, in the middle of the night he could take Antonio's car keys (wherever they were- finding them would probably be the only real issue), break out of the house, into the car, and drive off to somewhere safe. He'd steal money for gas and be out of there. If he wanted to.

But he didn't. Lovino didn't want to.

He finished making their beds, patting them down until the sheets were completely free of creases. They looked so immaculate that Lovino thought that maybe one day he could open up a school for bed-making. He'd have to capture and emotionally torture the students for a couple of weeks, but at the end the beds they made would be so perfect it's not like it would matter. In the bathroom he examined the old wounds on his cheeks and shoulder, and the newer one on the back of his head, reaching back the rub his fingers over it. Everything looked like it was healing. A strange bitterness came over him as he wiggled his tongue in the place where his tooth once was, but it disintegrated into dust.

The house was entirely clean, but he felt only remotely satisfied, as if there might have been something he was missing. He moved onto the cabinet and started organizing the cans and cereal. Antonio would be able to find things easier that way.

Inside his head, a voice asked him, _Why do you care if life is hard or easy for him? Look what he did to you. He_ hurts_ you._

Lovino sneered at the voice and said, don't be a pussy. Everyone messes up. No one's even remotely good at being human.

_Homo,_ the voice teased.

He snorted. If he was, so was the voice since they were the same person. He paused for a moment, can of tomatoes in hand. He was arguing with himself about his own sexuality. Yes, he was definitely going crazy. But at least it was humorous. Maybe he could write a book about it. _What to do if One Half of You is Making Fun of the Other Half for Being Gay but that Other Half Doesn't Really Care and You're More Concerned that You're Arguing with Yourself Over Something Trivial._ The title needed work.

Vaguely, he wondered what the rest of his family was doing. If they missed him or noticed he was gone. Shaking his head to himself, Lovino thought, they must have known he was gone. It had been several months- not days or even weeks, but _months._ Even someone as lonely and disconnected as him would have someone searching for him by now. Half-concerned, he wondered what he might do if he was found. It wasn't like he wanted to leave. Inspecting a box of fruit-snacks he was unaware they owned, Lovino wondered where his brother was. If he was still going to school, majoring in graphic design and minoring in being a complete bitch or something. He only missed him because he hadn't seen him in so long.

Time moved too slowly. The ticking of the clock on the wall dug into his brain like a nail, and he wished Antonio would get home so he could continue to experiment with acts of sexual audacity like he was a teenager again. He mentally planned out his next random kissing attack: after dinner he'd come up behind Antonio while he was putting the dishes away, tap him on the shoulder, and just quickly peck him on the lips. It was fool proof. Unless Antonio took it the wrong way and wanted sex (to which Lovino would reply _No way in hell, I'm just fucking around, sorry, man_), which would probably end up in Lovino being screwed over in more ways than one. He pondered this briefly and decided he'd work on it. It wasn't like he was short on time.

If there had been a fireplace, Lovino would have lit it. It would be the manual kind, he knew (because Antonio just sort of worked that way and if he had to own a fireplace that would be the kind) and he would have grabbed a couple of logs and lit them aflame. The house would smell like Christmas and nostalgia. The heat would make them think of things they liked remembering and they'd talk about them casually, like friends or lovers or long-lost brothers. But Antonio didn't have something as nostalgic and comfortable as a fireplace that reminded Lovino of his childhood so Lovino started to boil water for tea instead. Leaning on the island with his chin on his folded arms he realized the place just didn't feel like home.

Antonio came home a little later than normal, his car sputtering and groaning in the snow on the driveway. Lovino rushed to greet him at the doorway, standing by the end of the couch like an excited dog but hid it behind a scowl as the taller man shook the flakes of snow out of his dark hair, the pieces flying off into the air like bits of dandruff. His coat was long and black, reaching down past his knees, making him look unusually tall. Antonio folded his coat over his arm as he headed into the kitchen, ruffling Lovino's hair playfully on the way and giggling to himself. He folded the coat over the back of his chair and shuddered.

"Wow, it is really December now," he said. He cracked his knuckles, turning back to Lovino. "How's life, Lovi?"

The shorter of the two felt his heart flip like roller coaster. "Fucking fantastic," His legs were pressed tightly together, one foot behind the other and he massaged the back of his head. His stomach shuddered, nervousness and excitement twisting inside him as he wondered if Antonio had been thinking about what Lovino had done. "...How're you?"

Antonio casually said he was fine and twisted a strand of hair between his fingers, sitting down at his spot at the kitchen table; chair turned towards Lovino, and looked at the floor. Lovino could see Antonio's hair was getting longer, just slightly. Little pieces curling down below his ears, sticking up and out from the wind from outside. It was attractive, sweetly so, and not in any way sexual; just sort of in the way that Lovino wanted to touch it. He wanted to be near it.

"Hey," he said suddenly and Antonio briefly glanced up at him, the hair still twisting between his fingers. Antonio made a quiet, _Mhm?_ sound. He hesitated for a moment, wanting to say something romantic or sensual or even just questioning about their feelings, but instead he choked out, "...ah..._Thanks._"

With a slow blink, Antonio asked, "For what?"

"For just..." He paused to gather his thoughts, to collect them like broken pieces of plastic and glue them together with last-second ideas. "...Just _everything._ Just…damn it… letting me be here. Taking care of me and all that. I know, it's weird."

Shrugging and looking up with large, round eyes, Antonio replied, "It's not weird. I appreciate it." He smiled and chuckled. "...A couple of weeks ago you hated me and now it's all different. It's funny." Lovino's stomach churned with embarrassment at the thought of his spasms in the closet and his cries for help. Ready to protest, to lie even, he opened his mouth but Antonio cut him off. "Don't feel weird about it. I hated me too." His mouth became a line. "I _still_ hate me."

Lovino stepped a little closer, but not too close, keeping several feet between them as if afraid the floor between Antonio's chair and Lovino's feet might suddenly fall through into a hole in the earth. "You shouldn't. Hate yourself, I mean. Everyone's a little...fucked up, I guess. We're all a little off."

Antonio made a movement as if he was going to chew on his nail, then stopped, realizing he'd gnawed them all the way down like a hamster on a piece of wood. Instead he continued trying to crack his knuckles, making small popping noises as the air escaped. "The morning after you woke up," he began, looking away. "I told you, _I'm not like that_, remember?" Lovino said yes. He did. "I didn't mean...like _that._ Like the way I sometimes think about people. The way _you_ sometimes think about...people."

Lovino's heart gave a little squirm and he suddenly felt a sheet of humiliation over his own undecided sexuality cover him.

"I meant," he continued. "I'm not the kind of person to rape someone. Or molest them, or whatever. That's just not me. I know I must seem like that kind of person- I have issues, I know- but I know what it's like to have something done to you that changes you. That kind of thing changes you." He seemed thoughtful now, as if he wasn't simply talking to Lovino, but to some confused part of himself. "I'd rather do that kind of thing with someone who wanted to than just...take it from them."

Slowly parting his lips, Lovino replied simply and a little dumbly, "...Okay." Antonio didn't seem to hear him.

"Just know that I want you to be _happy,_" Antonio said in a strained voice. "I know I say that a lot and then something goes wrong but you're special to me. You're _precious_ to me. And it wasn't like you were really happy before I brought you here. I could tell." In a dreamy voice he added, "We're _supposed_ to be here." Something about the tone felt off in the air, as if it was smooth in a place of jaggedness.

On the other side of the room, the tea kettle screeched and Lovino thanked the excuse to move. His legs felt like boards of wood. The kettle's scream lowered to a whine as the heat left it and Lovino poured them mugs of hot water, dropping bags of tea into each. The water became dark. Sitting down opposite of Antonio and sliding the mug over, he said, "I think...you do make me happy. I mean, you didn't before, yeah, but that was just because things were shitty." He held the teabag by the tiny white string and dunked it in and out of the hot water. "But something changed. I don't know what, but things are better now."

Steam rose up from their mugs like wisps of phantoms. Antonio tapped his finger on the edge of his cup, the noise thin and high.

"Did you change or did I?" he mused.

Lovino said he didn't know. He lied.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N****: **Another short one. An uneventful short one, at that. Sorry! Thanks, once again, for the reviews and follows and favorites! You people are so sweet.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
X. Chapter 9

"I want to know something."

It was the closest to a command that he would ever get. Beggars are not choosers and captives are not commanders; at best they're lucky puppets if their strings are around their wrists and ankles instead of their necks, and they're even luckier if their puppeteers don't decide to grind them up into firewood. So when Lovino stood in the small, dark space between their two bedrooms, that couple of feet between where he stood and where Antonio stood, he was either feeling remarkably lucky or particularly stupid because puppets do not make demands of anyone. Even if they are particularly privileged.

At that point it was probably a little after ten, feeling more like midnight with the snow and the cold and the sleepy sluggishness that came with mid-western winter. Lovino felt a little bit like he was about to go into hibernation. Antonio yawned and turned around, all silhouette and no features in the lack of light. Sleepily he asked, "_Yeah?_"

He was hesitant, afraid that Antonio might judge him for what he was thinking or wanting. "I was wondering…" The sturdiness, the rock-like forcefulness of his tone, crumbled like a cliff side into the sea. Antonio stood patiently, waiting for him to speak like a kindergarten teacher or a particularly tolerant mother. A croak groaned in the back of his throat and he shut it like a sink drain. "No, never mind It's fucking stupid..."

Antonio made a gesture with his arms in the darkness and it might have been a shrug. "No, really. What is it?" It wasn't aggravated; it was curious. Lovino suddenly itched on the inside of his body.

"I was just sort of wondering if I could, like," he stammered out, trying to drag the sentence until maybe they would just forget what they'd started talking about and head off to bed. They didn't, so he continued, "I don't know…like…sleep in your room or something." Antonio rubbed his nose and said nothing, as if aware that Lovino might continue to correct himself. "Ah…damn, you don't have to let me. That's fucking fine, too…"

In a curious and oddly intelligent-sounding voice, Antonio asked, "What made you change your mind?" Puzzled, Lovino asked _What?_ It wasn't like Antonio had ever offered for them to sleep in the same room. "About being close to me," he continued. "If I'd asked you to stay in my room a few weeks ago you'd have said no. Or said yes but not meant it. I'm not even being..."

He seemed to want to say _violent_ or some other word similar to that but paused and changed his mind.

"What changed?" he asked. Lovino realized vaguely that he didn't have an answer. What had changed? Him, Antonio, their situation? No, nothing really. Nothing outside his head. Things in his head were colorful like cherries and comfortable like blankets on a cold day. He did think, _I'm going insane_, so maybe he was.

"I dunno," he replied. "I really don't."

Antonio stood still for a couple of breaths, the heaviness of thought weighing inside Lovino's ears like blocks of lead, possibly thinking it over, before waving his hand in a gesture signifying, _Come on._ With cold, bare feet on the wood floor and sleeveless arms he stepped into Antonio's room. Antonio turned on the light, then took a couple steps forward and put his hands behind his head, his elbows out.

"I have to change," he said, grinning, briefly glancing over at the dresser to the left of his bed. "So if you're uncomfortable with that you might want to turn around or something."

It occurred to Lovino that if they were to be sleeping in the same bed they would be near naked, minimally clothed in boxer shorts and maybe T-shirts. It made his heart and stomach do odd things inside their caverns, seeming to switch places with a nauseating leap and fall. "I'm just...sleeping in my shorts," he explained, his voice awkward, feeling to him as if it was coming out sideways. Antonio shrugged, his arms still up, and his face passive.

"As long as you're comfortable."

Lovino nervously turned away, facing the closet he was too painfully familiar with, staring at it and feeling like he might be shoved into it again. Looking at it made him feel nervous, more uncomfortable than the idea of sleeping next to Antonio. At least when he was near Antonio there was the possibility of safety. There was space to move. Behind him, clothes rustled like leaves and fell to the floor with low rumbles. He could hear Antonio pull on a different shirt.

"M'kay, all good," Antonio announced, giving a playful thumbs-up sign as Lovino turned around. He had changed his shirt into a ragged, black band T-shirt that looked several years old. He was wearing black boxer shorts and his skin looked dark. Lovino gave him a quick look up and down, far from checking Antonio out in a sexual way, but more just looking him over. Evaluating. Sort of making sure it was safe. Antonio looked happy and boyish, like a childhood friend ready for a sleep over. No harm, all safety.

The older man hopped onto the bed, kicking his legs out. "Tired?" he asked. Lovino shrugged. He said, _Yeah, a little_, which wasn't entirely true; his eyelids felt heavy, almost painful and sore to keep open, and his arms and legs felt too weak to lift or move. "You can sit down if you want," Antonio continued in a friendly voice. "It's not like we're gonna screw or something."

It was an odd thing for him to say, Lovino considered, because that's actually kind of what he was expecting.

Slightly grateful and more than slightly relieved, he sat down beside Antonio, keeping several inches between them. Antonio dug under his nails as if cleaning them, trying to fit under the chewed-down nubs for lack of anything to do with his hands. Fidgety, that's what he was. Lovino imaged that if Antonio was an animal, he'd have been a sparrow; constantly hopping around. Or maybe a crow; a large, black raven with an enormous wingspan and an omniscient scream. Maybe he'd even be a hybrid of the two.

The light was a dark yellow, the thick, dark green blankets beneath his legs comfortable and inviting. The whole room was warm, as if a fire had been lit somewhere and was heating them. It smelled like Antonio and he liked it; it was welcoming. The taller man placed his hand in the space between them and Lovino wished he would move it.

"What're you thinking about?" Antonio wondered aloud, saying it as if it had accidentally slipped between a crack in his head and floated out into the open like steam. Lovino didn't want to say _y__ou_ so he said _n__othing_ instead. Antonio simply _Hmm_'d as if he knew Lovino was lying but didn't want to press the issue. "You have a lot of courage," Antonio said.

Lovino didn't look directly as Antonio's face; he sort of just stared at his middle, eyebrows furrowed. "What d'you mean?"

Antonio sort of shrugged sluggishly. "I mean you have a lot of courage for being in here. Think about it: you're alone in this room with me. I could do anything I wanted to you and no one would come to help you. And I'm not even just talking about…sexual rape-y, molest-y things. But you trust me enough to stay here- not even that, but _ask_ to come in here and sleep in my room with me. As if I might say no or something. It's brave. Or maybe crazy, I dunno. I mean, I'd never do anything like..._that_ to you, but...still..." He laughed and it came out kind of like a snort. "Jesus Christ, I'm fucking crazy."

Leaning forward, back bent, with his arms resting on the upper legs, Lovino disagreed, "Nah. You have nothing to worry about. I'm crazy." The tone of everything, not just his voice but the room and the overall mood, was casual. Like they were old friends. "I'm friggin'...I don't know what I'm feeling or what I'm doing, and I think I'm becoming obsessive compulsive or something; I can't stop fucking _cleaning. _And my apartment was a God damn _mess_ so me cleaning anything is like, a huge deal."

Antonio's fingers twitched, bent slightly at the joint, and for whatever reason Lovino didn't want it to touch him. It was odd, a paradox even, because he longed to be physically and emotionally near Antonio, but if he wasn't the one entirely in control, making the quick pecks on cheeks or making strange sexual advancements, then he felt completely uncomfortable. As if he didn't trust Antonio and his motives at all. It made him feel dirty, guilty, and he didn't like it. Some part of him argued that it was because he didn't have a reason not to trust Antonio, but the part of him still retaining a speck of common sense snorted and didn't even bother to explain why that statement was both sad in the pathetic sense and comical. Antonio yawned conspicuously, his hand reaching up to cover his mouth. Lovino noticed that Antonio's teeth had little spaces between the front three teeth and his canines and he found them oddly charming.

"Okay, well," he said in a concluding voice, the words riding on the end of his yawn as if it was a wave. "I'd like to pull an all-nighter with you but...not really. So I think it's time we head off to sleep." He slid backwards to the head of the bed, sitting on the beginnings of the sheets. He gestured with his hand, the same _Come on, come here_ gesture as before. "You can come up here if you want. I won't make it awkward, I promise." He scooted over to the right, by the side of the bed with the nightstand and the lamp, making room for Lovino to join him.

Nervous, as if he was about to do something dangerous and daring (maybe he was), he crawled next to Antonio, not moving under the blankets, not wanting it to feel romantic or sensual or even like anything at all that wasn't simply boiled down to safety. Antonio reached over the nightstand and pulled on the metal chord to the lamp. The light clicked off and Lovino suddenly felt overwhelmed with regret, the feeling nearly knocking the wind out of him as if he'd been punched in the gut. He was momentarily rendered blind, the darkness feeling thick and tangible. Antonio moved next to him, shuffled around and squirmed to get beneath the blankets.

"You're sitting on the covers, silly," he teased, tugging them from beneath Lovino's backside. He lifted up his legs, knees bent, and scooted backwards, slipping his legs beneath the blankets- _Antonio's_ blankets; the place where the man next to him had slept for- what Lovino assumed was- years, the fabric gathering his skin cells, pieces of his hair. Dust.

The sheets felt smooth and cool against his bare legs and he tucked the blankets around his sides, holding him in place and covering him like bandages on a mummy. He turned on his side, away from Antonio, liking the feeling that he was there watching over him but not liking that he was so close. The pressure of Antonio on the mattress behind him was unnerving. From behind him he could feel Antonio move, lean towards him, and suddenly the other man's heat was on the back of his neck and everything inside him trembled like his parts inside had grown furry spider legs.

In a soft voice, Antonio whispered kindly," G'night." The firmness of his flat chest was near Lovino's back and it felt like a protective wall.

He curled his fingers around the blankets and behind him Antonio turned over. For some reason, Lovino wished he wouldn't. He breathed,

"G'night, Antonio."

They slept.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N****: **I like this one a lot. I don't really know why, but I do. I just had fun writing it. Thanks for the reviews, once again! I always feel awkward thanking you guys because I feel like I'm not expressing how much I appreciate your reviews and such. But I honestly do love the reviews I get. They always make me so happy.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
XI. Chapter 10

Mornings with Antonio smelled like pancakes, or sometimes fried eggs or waffles or even nothing because they were just going to have cereal, and sounded like the glass sound of plates on plates and rain playing a melody on the roof. His fingers stretched across the bed, bending over the ninety-degree angles where the edges of the bed were, his body spread like starfish across the mattress so it took up nearly the whole space. The shades were drawn and Lovino could only tell because the back of his closed eyelids were blood-vessel red; a soaked-up pool of his own saliva was cool and wet on the corner of his mouth. In the kitchen a metal pan made oily sizzling sounds.

Lovino bent and extended his middle finger, moving it as if petting the sheets, stroking the place where Antonio had once been. And even though the other man was only in the other room he felt vacant; an empty hotel room, a table for one in an old café, garnished with a glass vase holding a single, half-wilted brown and yellow daisy. He stretched; extending the muscles in his back in an arch and a sharp sigh through his nose, clenching his eyes shut and made a groaning sound in the back of his throat like pebbles rubbing together in a bag. Metal and oil stopped hissing like angry snakes and Lovino assumed that whatever Antonio was cooking had finished. It smelled greasy but pleasing, like overly-fried pancakes.

His feet were cold outside the blankets, the digits even colder on the floor of the kitchen as it transitioned from wood to linoleum. Squinting his eyes against the new light, he stepped into the kitchen, his hand slipping beneath the collar of his shirt to scratch sleepily behind his shoulder. Still drowsy, he yawned, "_Mornin', Tonio._" to the man setting a small, white plate carrying a mountain of little pancakes onto the table. _Maybe he shouldn't be an artist,_ Lovino thought dimly, blinking slowly. _He should have been a chef since he cooks so often._

Antonio made his way back across the room, sliding his black-socked feet across the floor, to retrieve syrup and butter from the fridge. It felt a little bit like they were playing house; Antonio was simultaneously the vigilant home-making wife and the overworked, underpaid husband. Lovino was sort of stuck being the child, spoiled rotten and mostly useless. The world was their Barbie-brand playhouse with rules he had trouble learning.

"Eh…do you need help?" he asked awkwardly. Antonio paused, butter dish in one hand and bottle of syrup in the other, and squished up his face in almost mock consideration, little creases forming above his small nose. His face suddenly relaxed and in a playful voice, chirped,

"Nope!" With a whimsical hop, he landed on the ball of his right foot and spun around on the tiles. The bottle of syrup and butter were set on the table. "No, wait, I lied," he chimed, holding up a finger as if to symbolize the idea that had sprung into his head. "Yes, you can help. We need juice. Juice is what we need in this time of breakfast." He spun around to face Lovino, his features bright and bubbly, painfully cute.

"You're excited," Lovino observed casually as he pulled out a half-empty carton of orange juice. He removed two juice glasses from the cupboard next to the fridge. When Antonio simply gave an uninformative _mhm_, Lovino continued, "Any particular reason why?" He poured them juice and felt less useless.

His eyes large and his elbow leaning on the island, he didn't answer immediately; he just looked onward, as if he was able to see through Lovino's skull and the walls behind him into somewhere much more attractive and far away. He blinked suddenly and said, "I was thinking we could go out again today." Lovino's insides leaped. "It's been a little while and provisions are getting kind of low so, hey, what the hell." He shrugged and smiled, his face looking soft.

Both glasses in hand, Lovino traveled over to the table, setting their juices down at their places. "Well, that's cool," he replied and took his seat, twisting back to watch Antonio turn to face him. "I haven't been out in a while." Since he was held at gunpoint. But that felt so long before, like maybe it had happened several years ago, or even never happened at all and was something he dreamed. The older man nodded and joined him at the table, seeming agitated and excited in his seat, writhing around like there was something uncomfortable in the seat of his pants. He cracked the four knuckles on each hand with his thumbs, making popping noises amongst their sounds of silverware.

Lovino had cut a little triangle out of the edge of his circular pancake, the shape now reminding him of the anthropomorphic sphere Pac Man, when Antonio leaned his cheek on the palm of his hand, resting his arm on the table, and grinned back at Lovino with half-lidded eyes. A small _hmph_ sound escaped from the inside of his throat; it was almost a chuckle. Lovino asked what, feeling self-conscious and offended.

"Last night," Antonio responded. Lovino unexpectedly felt awkward, afraid he'd somehow performed some sort of sexual act on Antonio in the middle of the night while completely unconscious and was going to have to come to terms with it right then and there. But Antonio continued, saying, "You must of been having a dream or something. You kept making these little noises."

Relieved, and now curious, the shorter of the two men asked, "Uh…I was?"

Antonio nodded in a short and quick movement. "Yeah. Like a puppy, you know? They make all those noises when they have nightmares and stuff. You were sort of doing the same thing; whimpering and stuff. It was, ah…" He sat up and shrugged again. "…Kinda cute, ya know? I know I probably should of woke you up or something but you were kinda too fun to…make you stop." He giggled nervously, perhaps even a little embarrassed.

Interested, Lovino inquired, "Wait, so you didn't sleep well, then?" Antonio looked confused, his dark eyebrows furrowed and his head tilting to the side inquisitively. Lovino rolled his eyes and popped some of his breakfast into his mouth and chewed through his words. "If you were up for that then you must not have slept too well." To that, Antonio looked off to the side as if considering.

"Well," he began slowly. "…I don't sleep too well, anyway." After a quick swig of juice, Lovino asked, _Why's that?_ The idea that there was a quirk or trait, no matter how mundane or insignificant, about this person that he didn't know about irked him, tugged on the place where his stomach was like a fishing hook had been attached to the organ and jerked. It felt somewhat like envy, although there was no one to be envious of. "I stay up a lot," Antonio continued. "Sometimes I'm drawing…but a lot of the time I'm just listening to you."

There was weighted tension on Lovino's end and he didn't know if Antonio could feel it. It was often hard to tell what subtle things Antonio could and could not feel; if his emotions weren't coming in outbursts as obvious and painful as balls of flame, they were hidden beneath his skin like minuscule insects and paper-thin secrets. He was an enigma; the epitome of human weirdness wrapped in skin and muscles and told to walk among the living in search of eternal companionship. Antonio was just freaking _odd._

"What the fuck are you listening for?" Lovino sneered aloud, hoping his words didn't come off as condescending, even though they felt that way as they came off his tongue. "…And what do you _hear?_"

Tearing off a piece of pancake and popping it into his mouth, Antonio explained, "Not anything different from what you'd expect; just you breathing and turning over and stuff." His face suddenly became serious, the familiar expression in which he lost color surfacing behind his face. "Sometimes you have dreams though. You get really scared. And you call for help sometimes…I don't like it."

It made sense that Antonio wouldn't like it, Lovino knew. When the nightmares used to be frequent, even ones he couldn't quite remember that jerked him to life in the middle of the night with sweat in the corners and creases of his body and adrenaline pumping through him like air circulating through a vent, he would often call for help to people who couldn't hear him. To Lovino, this made sense; in the beginning, he'd been kidnapped, held hostage in a place he wasn't familiar with, so dreaming of trying to find a way out was more than sensible. But to Antonio, this was infidelity, as unforgivable as an unfaithful spouse and as horrific as sin. The way his mind worked was nearly unfathomable; every time Lovino thought he had figured out the way some of the gears were turning, they'd switch directions and lose a few parts so he'd be completely lot again. He had figured, at least he thought he did, that Antonio probably felt that way, angry and afraid at Lovino's various innocuous behaviors, because he was caring, but not emphatic. With all of him, Lovino could tell, Antonio wanted to be the person that Lovino could trust, but he simply lacked normal human sympathy, which is why he could beat Lovino into a bloody mess and clean him up within the same couple of hours.

Trying to coax the color back into Antonio, to bring the sun away from the clouds of rain, he said, "Well, I haven't been having so many damn nightmares lately…In fact, I hardly dream at all."

Antonio stayed grey-blue for a moment, just thinking to himself. One day, Lovino mused to himself, he might just never come out of that. He'll just sit there like stone, up inside his own brain, until the rest of him decays and becomes nothing. The idea made him despondent.

But the colors came back quickly, returning as if someone had placed a flashlight beneath Antonio's skin. He nodded and tore at his breakfast. "Yeah," he agreed, smiling. "You haven't." He said it as if it was some kind of praise. Through a cheek-full of pancake, he added, "…But whatever you were thinking about last night was okay. I wish you could have seen yourself, it was just so cute."

Happiness found its way into his lips and cheeks, and try as he might he couldn't suppress the tiny grin accompanied with a forced scowl, a little embarrassed when Antonio laughed openly at his expression. It felt selfish to be taking pride in Antonio's compliments and it felt dirty and unnecessary to take any pleasure from him at all. In reality, in retrospect, the younger man was not worth anything at all. But they smirked awkwardly at each other across the table and playfully kicked at each others' feet. And Antonio grabbed Lovino's hand, saying, _I just want to hold it for a second_ and Lovino couldn't help but think, Yes. He is worth it. He's worth everything he gets. Something told him that there was something horribly wrong with that.

They each dressed themselves, Lovino going into his bedroom to change this time around, the little bit of solitude pleasant. He realized that that was something he didn't know he had been taking for granted before he'd begun living with Antonio; privacy and seclusion had become as rare as diamonds in dirt and even several minutes alone was a gift. For a few minutes he stood in front of the window, face to the sun and fingers on the nails in the wood, breathing deeply while he could as if he might leave and soon suffocate. Everywhere else was a plastic bag; ready to be tied shut and asphyxiate him.

They locked the house, Lovino wearing Antonio's long, black coat (the fact that it went down past his knees made him feel shifty; as if he'd stolen something and wasn't even aware of it) and Antonio wearing a black leather jacket. It made him look handsome and young. Snow crunched beneath their feet, coming up past their ankles and wetting the bottoms of their pants. The sun was bright on the hard, crunching snow, but the temperature was probably no higher than thirty degrees. It was sunny without a purpose and Lovino found that sort of fraud extremely frustrating.

The main streets had been plowed, which was nothing short of a miracle; if they hadn't been, Antonio's little sedan wouldn't have made it two feet down the road. The thing was about to give anyway, so anymore stress might just have resulted in the machine giving up and exploding. Inside, the heat didn't seem to want to turn on so the two of them shivered, teeth making clicking noises as they chattered, for the first six to eight minutes as they drove into town. Houses already had Christmas decorations up; roofs were garnished with 2-D cutouts of Santa Claus and his reindeer, gaudy lights and wreaths, and oversized, inflatable snowmen that waved to children with enormous, gloved hands. Lovino briefly wondered why Antonio had never mentioned decorated the exterior of the house, but then he realized it would have been pointless; it wasn't like anyone was stopping to carol there.

Smith's was open, but nearly deserted; a handful of snowy cars (and those most likely belonged to employees) were scattered around the parking lot. They parked up front so when they were pushing a metal cart out of the store they could rush there as fast as they could, defeating frostbite and red, runny noses before they could strike.

If Antonio had brought anything to serve as a reminder of his dominance, he didn't tell Lovino about it and he kept it hidden. And Lovino wasn't about to test the tether tying Antonio to his patience; he kept within a couple of steps distance of the other man, feeling like he was on a leash. It actually may have been easier if he was; at least at that point he'd know the extent of the distances he was allowed to travel without endangering himself. They grabbed a cart and Lovino held onto the side while Antonio leaned onto the handle and pushed.

One of the things Lovino feared was seeing the couple that he'd run into before. They'd have some sort of abstract, mental connection and somehow Antonio would sense it and all hell would break loose. The less attention that was brought to them, the better. Even though it had been several days, maybe even closer to a week at that point, since Antonio had felt the need to take out his frustration on Lovino, the threat was imminent, ever-present like a disease that might spread if Antonio were to cough or sneeze or bleed. It would infect them both and they'd both die.

"Okay, so I came to the conclusion while you were asleep this morning that we're pretty much out of breakfast food," Antonio noted in a vaguely chipper voice. His train of thought skipping like a stone over water, he added jokingly, "Speaking of which, you really sleep a lot! And you started rolling around all over the place. I was tempted to just push you off!" Lovino snarled at the comment, feeling stiff and apprehensive, no longer excited about being out of the house. He just felt unsafe now, on a tight rope without a net beneath him. Antonio didn't seem notice; he just slowly pushed their cart, looking airy and post-adolescent.

"We should just hurry the fuck up and go," Lovino urged in a voice he knew sounded panicked. His knuckles had become pale around the side of the cart. He could almost hear Antonio roll his eyes. The older man poked him in the back with a long finger and he yelped like a scared dog, positive he was going to be shot.

Antonio snickered. "You're weird," he said flatly, turning the cart down a random aisle. "Come on, we'll hurry up and go. _Just for you,_" he teased, sticking his tongue out cutely. Lovino sighed and prayed for the rest of their day to be easy. Check out was virtually empty, a bored-looking girl in her late teens with smudging eye makeup flipped through a magazine in the only open lane. They unpacked their items onto the counter as she rolled her eyes at them, openly irritated because they'd forced her to do her job. Lovino maneuvered over to the opposite side of the cart, the side closest to the electronic doors and large windows. While the girl smacked gum with aggravating wet noises, he leaned against the end of the counter, staring at the various posters taped up onto the window. Most of them were for people looking to sell their used car or from a local restaurant looking for a new waiter or waitress to take the late shift on Saturdays. There were a few other miscellaneous ones but Lovino didn't bother to read them.

He froze. A ball of panic materialized in the center of his being, forming like a rock in his gut. From where he was standing he could see a black and white piece of paper, conspicuous on top of two light blue papers. He recognized the picture, knew it because he'd seen it. Knew it because he was in it.

It was a picture of him, cropped out with Photoshop from an old picture of him and his brother and some of his friends. In bolded, black letters beneath the picture was the word _Missing._ A date. The color of his hair and his eyes. His name.

Someone had been there looking for him, which means someone had known that he was close by. And that meant at some point, one of those nameless faces would remember seeing him and Antonio together and fingers would start to point. Lovino suddenly remembered the couple he'd talked to and wished he could go back and erase it. As the machine behind him beeped over bar codes he wanted to rip the poster down, tear it into a million pieces and bury it in the snow so Antonio might not see it. It felt painfully conspicuous, like all Antonio would have to do is turn his head and he'd see it and he'd scream at Lovino, _WHO DID YOU TALK TO?! WHY ARE THEY LOOKING FOR YOU?!_

The last of the items beeped and the girls punched in a couple numbers on the electronic pad.

"Your total is 84.75," she droned. Antonio pulled out his wallet and paid and Lovino wanted to find some way to distract him. They packed their bags (paper, not plastic- Antonio wanted to be eco-friendly) into the cart and as soon as Antonio started pushing it forward Lovino thought, _This is it, it's all over. I'm fucking dead; he's going to fucking kill me. _They were within a foot of the sign and the picture of Lovino grimaced at the both of them with agonizing obviousness, a beam of lighting seeming to shine from above somewhere and illuminate the paper simply out of spite.

But Antonio didn't see anything. He just pushed the cart while Lovino walked beside him, looking bothered and bored and rock-star handsome. Shivering in the early winter weather, Antonio asked,

"Why so stiff, Lovi?"

He glanced back at the window. All he could see was a mess of the backs of papers held on the glass by aged pieces of looped-around tape. "It's nothing," he lied. They packed up their groceries and went home.

Lovino clenched his bare toes on the wooden floor. The knowledge of the poster, and ultimately what its existence would lead to, stood like an upright knife on the tip of his tongue. Antonio's eyes were half-lidded with sleepiness, a raggedy sweatshirt hugging his body in place of nighttime wear, as he sat soundlessly, radiating warmth beside Lovino on the couch. He seemed serene, peaceful and content enough, but Lovino feared breaking the softness like a pebble dropped into a pool of water; the ripple would pulse outward and cause something painful and frightening for the both of them.

Antonio bent his fingers back, cracking the knuckles with a tired look on his face. He said suddenly, "Penny for your thoughts." Lovino asked what he meant, knowing very well, and looked up at him. Antonio continued, "You're acting like you're upset or something. I can feel it."

Hopelessness welled up inside him like water, pouring into him from a hose attached to the inside of his stomach. He said he didn't know but Antonio gave an irritated sigh through his nose and that was a signal that the older of the two was becoming edgy. Time to get down to business, Lovino. Stop being a pussy. No more fooling around. Speak.

He debated about whether he should try and come up with a lie or create a new truth out of bits and pieces of reality that he could scissor apart and paste together in a different order. But Antonio had eyes that could see through walls and skulls, and eardrums that could hear through ribcages.

Feeling weak and his voice pained, he asked, "...Antonio...What if someone finds me?" It was almost not a question; a declarative statement of human nervousness and tension. Beside him, Antonio stiffened a little, but his exterior was still soft. It was as if his middle had solidified but his outside had remained relaxed and comfortable.

"Well," he began, and the word wanted to come out smooth and almost rounded, but instead it came out sharp and a bit heavy, as if it had let his mouth a square instead of a circle. His head tilting to the slide slightly, he contemplated aloud, "...I'm not sure. But when that time comes, we'll do what we have to do. Whatever that may be." He said the last sentence as if he did know but didn't want to say. Lovino was tempted to ask what he meant, but grasped the words with a fishhook and tugged them back into the pit of his stomach where they belonged.

He leaned his head on Antonio's shoulder, the body part feeling somehow familiar and comfortable. In response, Antonio leaned his head on Lovino's, squirming to get his arm behind the other man's body. "Don't worry," he consoled, his fingers stroking the side of Lovino's arm. "...The two of us, we'll be fine. We'll do what we have to do. They can't take you if you don't want to leave."

And Lovino found that he didn't.

They curled up in Antonio's bed that night and Lovino found that it wasn't as awkward as it had been the night before. It was as if someone had taken an eraser and swiped away the nervousness that had been as thick as crayon around the inside of his body. In the beginning, they faced each other, Antonio's strands of hair spread on the mattress around his head like octopus tentacles. Lovino leaned his head forward, his forehead against Antonio's, and the other man didn't react to the movement.

"G'night, Tonio," Lovino said, using the playful nickname he'd picked up since he'd begun living there. Antonio sort of just squirmed to show acknowledgment. He acted like he didn't want to speak to Lovino. _Is he being sulky?_ Lovino thought bitterly to himself. _It's not my fault someone is looking for me. Someone actually cares about me._

Antonio sniffled, his nasal passages sounding clogged, and momentarily Lovino thought the other man was crying. He asked if Antonio was okay and Antonio said, yeah, he was fine. His voice was smooth but sad. Turning over and bundling himself in sheets, Lovino felt painfully rejected. They laid in silence for about five minutes, crickets and insects chirping to each other outside Antonio's window. The blinds were still drawn, new moonlight coming in through the window. He wanted to be a little girl and ask, _Are you mad at me?_ like they would do back in grade school, but if Antonio was already upset it was a good idea not to antagonize him.

It occurred to him how stupid he must have sounded, how desperate. He imagined what the people he knew would say and think if they could see what he was doing, how he was living, and even what he was thinking. Desperation. Painfulness. Out of fear he latched onto Antonio, clinging to him like an animal, and instead of running when he had the chance he stayed. Never called for help. Huddling over, he tried to block the burning humiliation but it rose up behind his eyes and heated the inside of his head like hot water.

One day he'd probably tell someone, just one person, maybe his mom or brother, about how he'd slept in the same bed as Antonio, how they'd sat next to each other on the couch with their heads touching. He'd keep the secret about how they kissed, how he'd wanted to be kissed, to himself; he'd wrap it in tin foil and put it in a jar inside him where no one could coax it out. Because that was something he wasn't just embarrassed by, but something that felt strangely and painfully special; a unique moment, a split second of intimacy. He found himself wondering if Antonio also held their little moments close or if he just expected them, taking them as they came and then tossing them away like gum wrappers.

If he did, Lovino concluded, he didn't want to know about it. The knowledge might just break down whatever was left of the platform holding up his sanity. On the other side of the bed, Antonio turned over and Lovino wanted to turn towards him and pull them together, fighting through the potential embarrassment like he was running uphill and just giving in to the fact that he needed companionship. Maybe he needed it even more than Antonio did. Antonio could always get himself a new companion if he needed to. He was good at that.

He flipped himself over and looked at Antonio's back in the silver light. Black and grey silhouettes of trees swayed in the light winter wind outside the window. Lovino's fingers crept across the bed like a spider towards Antonio's back, wanting to lift up and feel the contours of his shoulder blades, the hills and valleys of his spinal column. He wanted to touch Antonio's hair, but he didn't. He kept his hands to himself, resting his fingers about half an inch away from the skin he wanted to touch out of curiosity and loneliness.

With a sigh, a release of air that held discomfort and pain, he retracted his hand and held it against his chest as if it might leap away and do things he earlier decided against. He closed his eyes. Clenching them shut, he forced out the words in his throat as if they were blocking his airway. "I love you."

And out of the darkness and silence came in an awake and waiting voice, "I love you too, Lovino."


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Ah, this thing is almost over, did you guys know that? I'm really excited for the end, I wonder what you guys think will happen. I'm very curious to see how you guys react! The response I've gotten for this story was much better than I thought it was going to be, I can't thank you guys enough for the reviews and follows and favorites.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
XII. Chapter 11

Morning came and Lovino found himself not wanting to leave Antonio's room, likening the sense of security and comfort to being a child, warm in his bed, on a day his mother let him stay home from school sick. Antonio left for work as he usually did; looking tired and grey and Lovino couldn't help but guiltily speculate that maybe it was his fault. Before Antonio left, they didn't hug or kiss or show any sign of affection other than their usual goodbyes. Tiny worms of worry wriggled like an infestation of maggots inside him and he prayed that something would go right soon so they could leave the tension and aggression behind.

The window in Lovino's bedroom was still nailed shut, either because Antonio, after all that time, didn't trust Lovino enough to pull them out or more simply had just not gotten around to it. When he pressed his hand against the window, a silhouette of warmth appeared around his hand. Winter was coming full force and there would probably be even more snow. At that moment the sky was peaceful, but still an ugly, disheartening grey. Bare trees grasped at the sky with their emaciated branches, black and thin. Lovino blew hot air onto the glass and drew a heart in the steam, thinking one day the room would be warm and the outside would be cold and maybe Antonio would see it and take it as something good. Or maybe he wouldn't see it as anything.

More out of boredom than out of the will to escape, he tugged at the nails in the wood. The first one- the one he'd tried to desperately pull free several weeks ago- wiggled like a loose tooth and his fingertips turned red as he twisted it.

Then, with a sudden, unenthusiastic jerk of his arm, the nail popped loose. It came free from the wood that surrounded it and he held it between his fingers. His mouth partially open with surprise, he held it up at eye-level to examine it. Just a nail. Nothing more. He thought about trying to tug out the rest of the nails, opening the window and having the ability to decide whether or not he was going to step out of it and walk through the cold, ankle-deep snow to wherever it was he wanted to go. The ability to choose, that's what he wanted.

Pushing the nail back into the hole, fitting it snugly back between splinters of wood to keep Antonio from seeing it free, he doubted that he even really needed the ability to choose, the _freedom _to choose. It wasn't like he'd have gone anywhere if he could have. The heart on the glass had faded, leaving nothing but his dirty hand print on the window which he was going to have to clean, make perfect. He looked at the nails in their even rows, bent at the heads from being crudely hammered in. No, he wasn't going anywhere. He had his chance.

He left the room, only returning to clean off the window, erasing the heart hidden by the cold.

The weeks meshed together like overlapping fingers, the days composed of routines and vague expressions of pseudo-romance and attraction. Antonio worked most days, except Sunday when the two of them spent the day together watching movies and tossing handfuls of popcorn at each other like giddy children, and Lovino spent most of his time alone. This meant he did a lot of cleaning that didn't need to be done, sterilizing the hard surfaces until they shined and squeaked under a naked finger, and scrubbing floors that didn't need to be touched. Since he saw the poster in Smith's and vocalized his concern to Antonio, the older man had been reluctant to take him out anywhere in fear of Lovino being recognized by someone who had known him to be missing.

As he watched the snow rise inches on the ground outside, Lovino wondered to himself why he hadn't taken the opportunities he should have to leave. There were people he could have called to and places he could have hidden and someone would have been able to get him home eventually. But when the opportunity arose, like it had each time he was allowed to leave the house even if it was just to go get the mail or take the trash out to the garbage can at the end of the driveway, he simply didn't feel the need to try and make his way away from Antonio. The desire had become nonexistent. He still missed his family, he even missed the few pseudo-friends he hardly ever talked to, and his apartment and the local stores where he used to check out the backs of books and sip strong coffee, and if given the opportunity he'd contact them and spend the day back where he used to live. But as soon as the twenty-four hours was over, his ephemeral vacation, he'd have returned to Antonio, eager to tell him about the experiences he'd had.

Life had become simple. He no longer worked or paid rent; he got to spend time in a warm house with someone who was eager to take care of him. It was as if he'd been reverted to a child again, and he didn't really mind. Every now and then he'd pull at the nails on the windowsill and try and lift up the glass and wood but when he figured that it just wouldn't give, he'd give up and go about the rest of his day.

Antonio's conspicuous signs of affection that had been reduced to a trickle had recently broken through a dam and were more than abundant. The man made it more than clear of his intentions, often leaning his head on Lovino's shoulder when they sat next to each other with a playful exclamation of, _"Oops, I tripped!"_ and he'd throw his arms around Lovino's torso in a tight hug. Sometimes Lovino would hug back and sometimes he wouldn't. Sometimes he was afraid that they'd become too attached. Or even that what he was doing and thinking and feeling was nothing short of stupid. The more he thought about it, the more it did, but the more he thought about it the more he couldn't bring himself from stopping it.

.

On the morning of December twenty-fifth, Antonio surprised Lovino with a sketch he had drawn. It was a charcoal drawing on expensive paper of Lovino, and his breath exited his chest as if forced; it was so elegantly drawn, every detail present, that he couldn't have but admire the effort Antonio had put forth into it.

"Maybe I can get you a frame for it one day," Antonio joked as Lovino held it in his hands, afraid because the paper felt so delicate. It felt like he might rip it. "And we can hang it in your room so you can look at it and think of me." He laughed playfully.

"It's really..." Lovino paused, mouth slightly agape. "Dammit, Antonio, this is fucking amazing. How come I never see you sketching?" he asked. Antonio shrugged and explained with a humorous undertone,

"Well, for me drawing is...It's kind of like masturbating. I really don't want anyone watching me do it."

Lovino sniggered and crawled over to Antonio who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He gave him the only Christmas present he could afford to give, which was his mouth on Antonio's. Antonio's cheeks turned pink as if he'd been out in the cold.

After Christmas, the weather didn't improve and Antonio's car continued to give him trouble so he took his vacation time; time which had apparently been building up for so long that he could probably take the rest of winter off and still have a few days left. Lovino learned how to make hot chocolate the way Antonio's grandmother had taught Antonio how, and they sipped their drinks next to the flimsy-looking plastic Christmas tree they'd bought only a few days before the holiday had arrived. Lovino was surprised with a few more sketches of Antonio's, pictures of them in pencil and pen and charcoal on paper from his sketchbook, some of them comic book cartoons and some of them so realistic that from a distance they looked like photographs. Whatever Antonio lacked in people skills he no doubt made up for in his artistic abilities. It was a surprise that he'd never been to art school or worked on anything professionally; working behind the counter at an art supplies shop hardly counted as experience.

For nearly two months- all through December and January- the two of them encountered no trouble at all. Every now and then Antonio would get the grey coloring in his face and depression would flow through him like heroin, but would dissipate as quickly as it came and his face would be colorful and pleasant once more. Lovino no longer feared threats of violence and felt safer with the other man, his friend, than he would have with anyone else. It was almost silly.

One day, it was a Sunday because Antonio's car had started working again and he'd begun going back to work so he was only home on this day of the week, they were laying bored on Antonio's bed, talking dully about how Lovino's hair had gotten noticeably longer, when they were surprised by the rapid, wooden _klok-klok-klok-klok_ sound of someone knocking on the front door. Antonio groaned, lethargic, and rose to answer it, Lovino spreading out on the bed comfortably. He held his eyes shut until he heard the voices in the other room and his heart seemed to contract, become small and frightened in his chest like a tiny animal.

"Hello, Mr. Carriedo?" the voice said in a rehearsed, authoritative tone. It seemed like it had once been kind but was now forceful. Antonio's voice came out as smooth as oil. _Yes, sir?_ "We're from the county police station. We'd like to ask you some questions."

Lovino hopped off of the bed and stood in the middle of the bedroom. He could only imagine why they were there; someone had seen him and Antonio together on one of the rare days they had gone out to go grocery shopping. They'd been tipped off. Was it the couple he'd met the first day they were out? Or the lazy, bratty teenage girl with her purple bubble gum smacking between her teeth who had turned and seen the poster, recognizing the young man buying foodstuffs with the town crazy? He frantically searched around the room for a place to hide; they'd check in the closet and under the bed, the bathroom and the spare room that Lovino used. His legs became weak and threatened to collapse beneath him. Out in the front room Antonio spoke smoothly and charmingly.

"Sure, anything," he replied. One man- it was a different voice this time- asked if he and his partner could step inside. Antonio must have nodded when he opened the door because he didn't speak.

"Mr. Carriedo-"

"Mr. Carriedo's my father, I'm Antonio," he corrected and Lovino could nearly see that handsome, sly smile creeping along his face as if it was being drawn on with a thin pen.

There was a pause and the voice that followed the silence sounded slightly irritated. "Okay, Antonio, we got a report a couple of days ago that you were seen with someone who's been missing for a good number of weeks. Would you know anything about that?"

"Ah, no, not really," Antonio responded lightly. He sounded convincing, at least to Lovino. Maybe he was just biased and Antonio didn't sound convincing at all. "...I did meet this one guy who said he was just passing through, though," he continued. "I met him at that bar downtown, the Velveteen Rabbit, and then we went over to Smith's together. He said he was heading over there and I needed to go there anyway so we met up there and just sort of _chilled._" He stretched out the last word and Lovino imagined him making a long movement across the air with a flat hand as if he was cutting the air in half.

One of the men asked, "And that's it? You just hung with him at the store and never saw him again? Where did he go after that?"

Antonio must have shrugged because after that he said in a voice that reflected the action, "I dunno. We bought our stuff and he headed off. I didn't know where he was going but he bought a lot of food and bathroom stuff so I assume he was going somewhere."

The police man- one of them- _mmmhm_'d, his voice low. "So you think he was going somewhere? Did he say anything about it?"

Lovino exhaled. Antonio was trying to make it sound like he had run away somewhere; maybe then they'd take the search to another town and they'd be safe again. After a beat, Antonio replied,

"_Mmm..._Nah, I don't think he did. He just sort of hinted at it, ya know? Didn't really come out and say anything. I assumed he was gonna go visit family or something."

There were a few moments of silence, about five or six seconds worth, and Lovino feared the men asking if they could search the house. He readied himself to squish down under Antonio's bed, insecure about the hiding place but feeling that it may have been his only choice. He imagined them looking around the living room, searching for a sign that Lovino had been there; an extra plate on the table, one of Antonio's sketches of him sitting out in plain view. But they didn't ask to look around and didn't make a sign that they noticed anything out of place; one of them made a noise of confirmation.

"Okay," said one of them. He sounded middle-aged, older than the other, and Lovino could picture him as the stereotypical overweight cop with a thick seventies mustache and mid-western accent. "Well, I think that's about all we have to ask for now." Antonio said okay, his voice open as if he was smiling while speaking the word. "If you find out anything else about the man you were with, please tell us."

"Oh, I will," Antonio confirmed sincerely. Their footsteps became less audible as they headed for the door. "...Yeah, if I had known that guy was missing, I would have called someone. I'd never seen him before." He's pushing it, Lovino thought nervously. Just get them the fuck out of here!

There was the sound of shuffling papers. "Here," said one of the policemen. "This has all his information on it; name, birthday, stuff you can use to get a hold of his family. They should have had these papers up as soon as he went missing, maybe then we'd be able to find him faster." The door creaked open.

"Okay, well, I'll keep an eye out for him, 'kay?" Antonio said. The men told him to have a good day and Antonio closed the door. There was silence in the house and Lovino became afraid that Antonio would have an outburst. He stepped out of Antonio's room and into the hallway, afraid that the other man might spontaneously charge at him from the living room and beat him into a bloody mess.

In a soft voice, he called down the hall, "...Tonio?"

From the other room came an exasperated sigh, and then, "Yeah, Lovi?"

Lovino scooted his socked feet along the floor until he came to the walkway. Antonio was standing in the middle of the living room, rubbing his hand on his head as if he was experiencing a headache. They were quiet for a moment before Lovino asked delicately, "Why were they here? How did they know?"

"They didn't know _anything_, they were just making a guess," Antonio spat and it was impatient and aggravated. He threw his arm down and exhaled, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face. He cursed to himself. "...Dammit, that was close." His voice was breathy, as if he had been panting. Running his hand over his face and massaging the bridge of his nose, his back still to Lovino, he asked, "Where'd you hide? Did you stay in my room?" Lovino said that he did. Antonio clicked his tongue in his mouth. "Okay, that's good. That's what you should do. I wouldn't have let them search the house even if they'd asked. They can't search the house unless they have a warrant..." He seemed to be trying to convince himself.

"Well, what the hell are we going to do?" Lovino asked in a desperate tone, throwing his arms out by his side. "What if they come back and they _have_ a damn warrant? I'll have nowhere to hide-"

Antonio spun around and held up his hand. "No," he disagreed firmly. "They're not going to come back. They're _not_ _going _to take you away. We just..." He paused to catch his breath and collect his thoughts, his brain seeming to move too fast for his mouth to keep up. "...I'll figure out what I need to do."

Pressing the balls of his feet together, Lovino asked, "And what's that?"

"Just whatever needs doing," he replied sharply. He blinked slowly and deliberately. "It's okay though," he reassured Lovino but not sounding as if he's reassured himself. "You've been here with me for...what...three months now and they're _just_ getting here? They won't take you away. We'll be okay." He covered his face with his hands. _"Shit."_

Lovino moved over to the other man and wrapped his arms around his middle. "It's fine," he cooed, rocking them back and forth gently, trying to be soothing and wanting to pacify Antonio like a mother caring for her baby. "_We're_ fine. You're doing fine, Antonio." The taller man opened his arms, face sticky with the few tears that had dripped down the sides of his face, and embraced Lovino's small body.

"Yeah," he replied. "Maybe."

.

It became an obvious and unspoken rule that, no matter the circumstance, Lovino wasn't allowed out of the house. Even to grab the paper from the end of the driveway or to step outside on the front porch for whatever nameless reason; he was a liability, a neon sign pointing to his own kidnapping. He asked Antonio if maybe he should dye his hair or something but Antonio just shook his head as he aggressively paced the floor.

"They're going to have their eye on me now," he explained. "If I'm buying that kind of stuff they're going to know I'm hiding you. They're idiots, but they're some pretty smart idiots. We just have to be careful." He had no nails on the end of his fingers to bite down so he started tugging at his hair. Stress was gnawing at him and Lovino could see it chewing holes in his stability.

"Well..." Lovino began slowly, sitting with his chair turned towards Antonio, who decided to hop up on the island and swing his feet frantically. "Just go to work like normal; don't do anything too fucking nutty. They'll stop looking for me around here at some point and maybe in a few..." He considered to himself. "...months or something I can start going out again." Antonio just kicked his feet, trying to fight away the emotional pain pounding like hammers in his head.

Their moods didn't improve as the current week ended and the new week began anew. The sun was constantly hidden behind a thick layer of grey clouds. And if it wasn't snowing, it was just completely cold. It felt like the two of them were caught in a whirlwind of emotional discomfort. Lovino felt like if he could find a match, lighting it might burn away all the heavy blocks of stress in their heads, clearing their brains and making them feel like new again. But he was stuck in a messy drawer and shuffling his hands around the miscellaneous items he couldn't find one; not a match or a lighter or even someone willing to help them without rending them apart.

Lovino curled up in a blanket on the couch, his cold toes heating up in the fabric. He flipped the television onto a random channel and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of some nameless TV host chatting it up with some quasi-celebrity who owned her own makeup line. Antonio had been at work for two hours already. Lovino missed him.

He fell asleep on the couch and dreamed that Antonio asked Lovino to help him hang himself. Lovino said no, he wouldn't, kept asking what the fuck was wrong with him while weeping but Antonio gave him the noose and stepped up on a chair in the kitchen. Lovino tried to hold the noose tightly in his hands, tried to keep it away from Antonio, but his hands tingled and itched and he couldn't keep them closed around the rope. Antonio took the noose and wrapped it around his neck, tightening it below his chin so Lovino could see his jugular vein bulging prominently beneath his skin. Before Antonio kicked over the chair, Lovino was jerked awake, sent back into the realm of the living by Antonio, who was both alive and gently shaking his shoulder.

"Welcome back, Lovi," Antonio laughed as Lovino looked up at him with sleepy eyes. He gently stroked Lovino's hair with the back of his hand. "Sleep well?"

He wanted to say no but said yes anyway. Antonio didn't need to worry about anything else. Blinking away drowsiness, Lovino sat up and Antonio went into the kitchen, grabbing a small drinking glass and filling it with water from the sink. "How's work?" he asked, one eye squinted shut against the light. Antonio shrugged.

"Eh," he responded. After gulping down the water, drinking as if severely dehydrated, he continued, "...I thought about you a lot. I've been doing that a lot lately. I think it's because of what happened last week."

Stretching back and extending his arms out in front of his body as he woke up, Lovino replied, "_Mmm,_ really?" He hesitated, nervous and shy, then added, "I think about you a lot when I'm here." Antonio entered back into the living room after putting his coat on the back of his chair. He asked in a curious voice, _Really?_ and sat down next to him. "...Yeah. I don't know why, I've done it since I started living here."

Antonio put his hand on Lovino's leg, setting the appendage on the other man's upper thigh. "I see," he said. It was in a tone Lovino couldn't decipher. A familiar line of tension formed between them, as thick as tendon. Lovino simply replied with, _Yeah._ He wanted something to happen, something to break the tension and make things comfortable again, but simultaneously he didn't want anything to happen. If it was going to, he wanted it to happen quickly so he didn't have to think about it or worry about it for longer than he had to. Lovino traced the creases in Antonio's hands, the tip of his finger making circles around the other man's knuckles.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Antonio asked. He seemed to know already and that's why he asked; he just wanted Lovino to say it. He didn't. He turned his head and kissed Antonio awkwardly on the side of his mouth, just on the edge of his lips and where he cheek started. The taller of the two turned against the kiss, towards him, and pressed his mouth to Lovino's, not moving his mouth, just sort of holding it there, and a sexual jolt went through Lovino's body. It was both uncomfortable and pleasurable at the same time, and if he had to choose between it stopping and becoming more intense he wouldn't have been sure of which he wanted. He wasn't sure whether or not he should open his mouth or pull away or just sit there with the lips pressing together, feeling the hardness of Antonio's teeth beneath the skin. Very quickly, Antonio opened and closed his mouth around Lovino's upper lip, just barely sucking on the skin, before pulling away.

The taller man giggled, the high, dry sound familiar and comfortable to Lovino. Antonio bit on his bottom lip and Lovino couldn't help but think that he was re-tasting the place he'd just experienced.

"We're weird," Antonio observed blatantly with a vacant grin. His hand was still on Lovino's thigh, not moving towards or away from him, just sitting there as if Antonio wanted to experience him but didn't want to make him uncomfortable. The fingertips pressed into the denim of his jeans, into his skin.

"...Yeah," Lovino agreed absently. "We really are."

.

Lovino awoke the next morning with his head in Antonio's chest, clutching the other man's black T-shirt. He nuzzled against Antonio, pressing his ear against his rib cage and listening to his heart beat behind skin and flesh. It was relaxing and somehow familiar. Antonio pet Lovino's hair, running his long fingers slowly through the dark locks and holding his lips against the top of his head. The lamp beside the bed had been turned on, the light covering them an unattractive dark yellow. It was still dark outside.

Moving his mouth down to Lovino's ear, lips brushing the cartilage, Antonio whispered, "Come on, Lovi, it's time to get up." Groaning and pressing his nose into Antonio's chest, Lovino murmured, _I don' wanna._ The lips turned up against the top of his ear, smiling softly. "Me neither."

In the kitchen, the clock on the wall ticked, the sound faint and dull from their place in the bedroom. Lovino's mouth opened against the fabric of Antonio's shirt and he could faintly taste and smell the other man. "I keep having dreams about you," he said. It came out sad and he wished it hadn't. The hand was petting his hair again and Antonio asked him, _What happens? _Lovino clutched him, still not able to think completely straight, his brain still half-submerged in unconsciousness. "I keep dreaming that you're dying."

The mouth against his ear became a straight, serious line, not quite a frown. "I'm not going anywhere," Antonio said firmly. Almost as an afterthought he added, "And neither are you." The hand on the back of Lovino's head curled into a fist, clutching hair and holding tight as if he might float away. Breaking from his own seriousness he said, "Well, we should get up because I have work."

Lovino _Pffft!_'d and rolled over and Antonio tumbled out of bed. "Work is for losers," he said half-jokingly, pulling the blankets up over his face. "Stay here with me and we can be cool people."

Tugging the blankets off of Lovino from the foot of the bed, Antonio corrected, "Cool people go to work and make money, silly." The shorter man groaned, pulling his knees up to his torso, and hid his face under one of the pillows. "Let's go, Lovi, the day calls us."

Lifting up the pillow and looking outside with a grimace, Lovino replied, hissing, "It's not _day_ if it's dark outside." Antonio play-scoffed and opened his dresser in search of clothes for the day ahead. Out of habit, Lovino turned over on the bed, his back to the person undressing behind him. Clothes shuffled and the thin, metallic sound of a belt jingling reached him. It occurred to him that it was probably odd for him to feel uncomfortable with Antonio changing since he had spent several weeks sleeping in the man's bed, clothing limited to old T-shirts and boxer shorts. Antonio snapped his fingers and Lovino took it as a sign that he was done dressing. Sitting up, he decided that he'd dress once Antonio went to work; he had all day to do it, anyway.

Breakfast was strong coffee (Lovino had learned to take it black when they ran out of cream) and the last of the cereal. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he realized that Antonio was going to have to go to the store again and he wouldn't be allowed to join him. He poked his big toe against Antonio's ankle and sighed disdainfully at him.

"So what's your day entail?" he asked, stirring his spoon through his milk.

"Nice vocab word," Antonio teased sardonically, his smirk sideways and sexy. Lovino flipped him off. He took a sip of his coffee and swallowed, his face relaxing. "…Not much. Same as always. Dealing with people who don't want to deal with me, organizing stuff. Same old, same old." Their feet nudged each other beneath the table and Lovino didn't want Antonio to go.

They finished their cereal and when the last drop of coffee was sipped from the bottom of their mugs, Lovino collected their dishes and headed over to the sink. Antonio was pulling his coat on while Lovino covered a rough sponge with blue dish soap. The older man came over to the sink and kissed Lovino quickly on the cheek, not unlike a husband saying goodbye to a wife (the thought made Lovino want to smack himself), and headed out to the front door.

Antonio disappeared behind the wall and Lovino could hear the creaking sound of the door opening; he vaguely thought to himself that they should spray the hinges with some sort of oil to stop the noise.

"_Oh._"

The sound came from the other room, and Antonio's voice was light and airy, surprised. Lovino put down the dish he was scrubbing and called out, "What?"

Antonio didn't answer him. Lovino wiped his soapy and wet hands on his boxers and strolled over to the walkway.

"Hey, what's wrong Ant-"

He stopped. Antonio's hand was on the door, the tendons beneath the skin taut and prominent. Air escaped Lovino, rushing out in a painful gust. The policeman in front of Antonio moved his eyes from one of them to the other; from Antonio to Lovino back to Antonio, the movement appearing slow but actually occurring quite quickly because in a swift movement he pulled his gun from the holster at his side and pointed it at Antonio's chest.

"_PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM! STEP AWAY FROM THE HOSTAGE!_"

Antonio's skin became grey and Lovino watched as his sanity rolled up like a carpet into the back of his head. Empathy evaporated, like boiling water disappearing into steam.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N:** This is a little late considering I usually update every three days, but I've been a little busy. Aha...anyway, I would just like to say that any questions which have not been answered were left that way on purpose. "You hear that Stu? I think she wants a motive. Well, I don't really believe in motives Sid. I mean, did Norman Bates have a motive? Did we ever find out why Hannibal Lector liked to eat people? DON'T THINK SO. See, it's a lot scarier when there's no motive."

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine. The quote above belongs to Scream.

**Pairings:** Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be in the background

**Warnings: **Language, mature content, violence, hazardous drug abuse, psychological/sociopathic tendencies and manipulation.

**Chapter Warning: **Language, violence

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
XIII. Chapter 12

Lovino's hand shot out in front of his body. "_No, I'm not a hostage! Don't shoot him!_" Antonio's open hands moved up to the side of his head and he slowly took a step back, his neck bent, his head down. The man with the gun, slightly shorter than Antonio, kept the gun on him; Lovino was smart enough to know he wasn't going to shoot, but his heart still pounded like a hummingbird's, nervous nausea threatening to bring vomit up his throat.

The man stood with his legs apart, steadying himself, and he told Antonio to get on the ground. "If you're not a hostage, then what are you?" he asked, and it was mostly rhetorical. He glanced back at Antonio who had not moved. "I said _GET ON THE GROUND!_"

He didn't and Lovino could see it coming. Antonio had lost all his color, becoming storms and rain instead of summer and sky. He withdrew the gun, just a small, silver handgun, from the deep pocket of his jeans, the one Lovino found that he frequently carried, and Lovino had learned to take the arming as not a symbol of Antonio's distrust for him, but as his distrust of the world. Lovino jumped back, feeling as if he had been shoved, and kept his arms out as if holding something back. The gun flew up, Antonio's hand clutching it tight around the handle and Lovino might have screamed, or just made some odd, abstract sound, but he momentarily lost his ability to hear because one of the guns went off.

Lovino knelt down, his hands flying up over his ears, and as soon as the sound of the explosion faded to a ring in his ears he _did_ scream. It was short and low, like a rough cry of pain, and he clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to see either Antonio or an innocent man whose name he didn't know hurt and bleeding and dying. A low, animalistic groan came from the other side of the room and Lovino knew it was from Antonio and he opened his eyes, afraid to see him bleeding and clutching a wound on his chest or stomach.

Antonio wasn't bleeding; he was holding the gun out in front of him, finger on the trigger, body as stiff as ice. The cop fell back against the open door, snowflakes blowing in from the outside, floating like pieces of dust. Antonio nudged the cop down onto the floor and stepped on his chest, holding him against the carpet, and pointed the gun down at his gut. His profile was facing Lovino and the shorter man could see that Antonio's face was completely passive, his eyebrows relaxed and his mouth an expressionless line. The way he held the gun down, his body seemed to be composed of sharp angles, like he was a mannequin posed there for artistic purposes.

A cry exploded out of Lovino's throat like vomit and he screamed, "_NO, HOLY FUCK, ANTONIO, GOD, DON'T!_" But Antonio cocked back the hammer again and shot a bullet into the man's nose; he shot again, and once more, hitting the man in the eye and then the forehead. Blood and brain matter, bits of skull and membrane and pieces of the human body, shot back against the door and splashed across the floor. Lovino was reminded of throwing rocks into puddles of water and watching the liquid explode over concrete. Antonio shuddered and made a shivery groan and the sound was almost erotic, as if he got some twisted pleasure from the burst of skull and blood. And once more he shot the gun, the bullet piercing the skin and bone of the cops cheek, and it wasn't out of defense or anger; it was simply because he could.

The hand holding the gun dropped down to Antonio's side and the man tilted his head back, hair falling off of his face, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly agape. Lovino felt his stomach clench, twist and churn around the breakfast he and Antonio had ingested only minutes before, and he fell to his hands and knees as he vomited over the wooden floor. He coughed and spit up bile and behind him Antonio stepped off of the man's chest; the man who probably had family and friends and co-workers and neighbors who would care and hurt because he had been shot four times, three in the face and once in the chest. Antonio let out a pseudo-sexual _Mmmm…_ and Lovino hacked on pieces of semi-digested gunk in his throat.

In a pathetic, fearful whimper, Lovino slid away from his puddle of puke and moaned, "_Antonio, what did you DO? You didn't…Oh, God, Antonio…_" Antonio was shaking now, trembling from a rush of adrenaline, and he put the gun back in his pocket, arms dangling limply.

Weakly and unconvincingly he said, "…'s okay. 'M gonna fix this…"

"YOU _CAN'T!_" Lovino screamed, wiping off his mouth on the back of his hand, his mouth sour and his hairline sticky with sweat. He stumbled to his feet, his eyes darting between Antonio and the dead man on the floor. Blood pooled around his head like a halo. "You can't _fix_ this! _YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM, ANTONIO!_" He pointed at the cadaver as if to make it more obvious. Clutching his hair and making a weak sobbing noise, he cried, "Oh, God, we have to…we have to call somebody…"

The gun reappeared in Antonio's hand and he pointed it at the ground near Lovino's feet as if deciding whether or not he should really threaten the other man with it. "Shut _up_," he spat, saliva flying from his mouth. He groaned, "Go in the bedroom while I clean this up."

"But, Ant-"

"-_JUST BE QUIET!_ If we hide the body it can buy us enough time to get out of here so we can find a place to stay until this blows over." The gun was still pointed at the floor.

Lovino realized that he was screaming but he couldn't make himself stop. "It's not going to _blow over!_ You…Antonio, you _shot someone!_ You _killed someone!_" He couldn't stop staring at the body, watching as blood came out in little red spurts from the entry wounds in the man's face, covering his now pale skin in color. "They're going to put us in jail! They're going to take you for keeping me here and for lying and for killing him! It's _over!_"

Antonio groaned and threw his hands up to his head, imitating Lovino's movements, the gun still in his hand. "God _damn it!_" he cried angrily. His teeth were clenched and bared, making his face look feral. "I am so _sick_ of your whining! Just shut _up!_" He turned his back to Lovino and exhaled sharply. "Just listen to me. Everything's gonna be fine. We'll leave here and start a new life, get new names and everything. It's gonna be _fine._" Lovino stepped back, his hands held against his chest.

"No," he protested softly, aware that he sounded small and afraid but continuing anyway. "No, there's no way in hell I'm doing that." Antonio turned back to him, his eyes wide, his arms out by his torso.

"What do you suggest we _do_ then?" he asked sardonically. In a shuddery voice Lovino said he didn't know. Antonio took a step towards him and pointed the gun at him, not with the intention to shoot but in a simply pointing gesture. "You're always questioning what I say but you never give a reason why or an alternative." Lovino stepped back and Antonio continued moving forward. Narrowing his eyes and presenting an odd, sideways smile revealing his teeth, he continued, "You want to leave me but you can't, right? Is it because you think I'll kill you or because you actually kind of like me now?"

Lovino backed up into the kitchen, Antonio stepping towards him each time he moved back, and his lower back hit the island. In a moment of brief insanity he spun around to the sink and dove for the freshly washed dishes and pulled out the first knife (the only knife, a serrated, pointed bread knife) he could wrap his fingers around. Antonio cocked his head to the side slightly and chuckled sarcastically. He looked down at his own gun and then back at Lovino's kitchen knife as if to say, _You're kidding, right?_

"Nice," he commented in a mean voice. Lovino's legs trembled. Angrily he continued, "You don't want to. You think you do, but you don't. And even if you did, you couldn't."

In a moment of bravery, or stupidity, Lovino spat, "_Try me._"

But Antonio was right. He didn't want to. The thought of stabbing Antonio made him writhe inside his skin. All he could think about was how, less than an hour ago, they'd laid next to each other so compassionately with Antonio's fingers in Lovino's hair and Lovino's nose in Antonio's shirt. He remembered Antonio's little sketches of them together and the picture he'd drawn for him hanging in the bedroom Lovino no longer used. It made him want to sob and the knife lowered slightly. Smiling, his face turning into something gentle, Antonio stepped forward.

"That's what I thought," he said and he began to close the space between them, reached his free hand out to pull the knife away. "…Now give me that and we can start cleaning up the mess in there."

Still, Lovino shook his head. "No," he croaked, the weapon held at the level of his chest. "I'm not."

Antonio's features became stony. "_Yes._"

"_I won't,_" he protested, his voice low and gravelly. Antonio lunged forward, trying to grab at Lovino's wrist but Lovino's whole body seemed to spasm with terror and he couldn't think.

"_NO!_"

His arm jerked and he slashed the knife across Antonio's wrist, the radial artery bursting open in a sideways slanted gash, blood gushing down the man's arm and dripping in enormous drops down onto the white linoleum. Antonio groaned and hissed, staring wide-eyed at his bleeding wrist. He raised the gun but Lovino lunged, holding the knife with both hands, and sloppily sliced across Antonio's other wrist with a loud cry. The weapon dropped from Antonio's hand and clacked onto the floor, the man stepping back. He looked up at Lovino, his eyes wide and his face pale, and Lovino ran at him, his feet slipping in the puddles of blood forming on the tiles.

He wailed, plunging the knife into the space between Antonio's clavicle and shoulder, the two of them tumbling onto the ground. Blood pooled around the wound and Antonio clawed at Lovino's hands but Lovino only screamed, ripping the knife out of the flesh and stabbing the man again square in the chest, straddling his waist and holding onto the opposite shoulder. Red gushed out of Antonio's mouth, dripping down the sides of his face and splattering onto Lovino's face as it was coughed into the air.

The grip on his hand, the nails digging into his skin, loosened and with another low cry of, "_AARRGH!"_ Lovino sent the blade into the side of Antonio's chest he was sure held his heart. The man beneath him gave a final bubbling cough, blood and saliva staining his lips red, and his head fell to the side, his arms descending beside his torso. He twisted the knife sharply inside the wound and Antonio's body gave a final spasm, a breath of air leaving his mouth with a sound like a soft breeze, and he moved no more. Lovino let go of the knife and stared down at Antonio, his hair in his face, his chest and shoulder and wrists covered in sticky red, bleeding onto his clothes, his jacket, the floor. Lovino looked down at the person he killed and his insides exploded in a horrific scream.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbing his head, the blood on his hands smearing onto the side of his face, his hair. He remembered kissing Antonio and Antonio kissing him and holding his hand and sitting beside him and he screamed, sobbing and wanting to die, and when he ran out of breath he inhaled and screamed again. Everything shook and the knife stuck out of Antonio's chest and he screamed and cried until no sound out, just a whine. He reached up and touched Antonio's pale, smooth face and he whimpered as his fingers made thin tracks of blood across his cheek.

Climbing off of Antonio's corpse, he kicked himself back against the wall, watching as blood pooled around the other man and nothing moved. Lovino would have thrown up again but there was nothing left inside him. He needed to call someone, get some help, but Antonio didn't own a phone. The cell phone he carried was probably in his pocket but Lovino feared moving to reach in and grab it from the man's jeans and being seized by a hand he had thought was dead.

Lovino remembered going to his grandfather's funeral and feeling a stabbing pain in the center of his chest. He remembered regret and remorse. But he remembered the pain fading into nothingness only a few weeks or so later so he would forget about him entirely. He had not seen him die. He had not made him die. His back pressed hard against the wall, he sobbed, and he knew this wasn't something he could forget about. This was not a wound that would scab and fade or be numbed with Novocain and pushed to the back of his brain with old memories that collected cobwebs and dust. His arms ached and so did his wrist and he couldn't help but think that he deserved the physical pain.

He moved onto his hands and knees and slowly crawled towards Antonio's body.

"_I'm sorry,_" he whispered desperately, running his hand down Antonio's pockets to feel for the hard lump of his cell phone. Tears made hot tracks on his face and he could see that Antonio's eyes were open, blank, seeing nothing. "_Oh, God, Antonio, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…_"

The phone was in his left pocket and Lovino pulled it out, holding it close to his chest as if Antonio might reawaken and snatch it away. Leaning over the other man's body he felt a sense of sorrow that went deeper than guilt and fear. It was the idea that he would never experience the same closeness that he had with Antonio and he may never again know the same romance, the awkward and pleasurable nervousness that he'd known while living with this person. He bent down and kissed Antonio on the cheek, right on the weird little place on the corner of his mouth. With a whimper, he pulled away and crawled back to his place against the wall.

He flipped open the phone. The electronic numbers said it was a little after seven thirty. With his hands trembling violently, he dialed _911_. In the three or so seconds when the phone rang once he watched Antonio's body and in the back of his head he hoped, just vaguely, that Antonio would get up and everything would be okay, just like he said it was. The line clicked over and woman said, "_911, what is your emergency?"_

In a whimper, he said to another human being what he should have said a quarter of a year ago.

"_I need help._"


	14. End

**A/N:** Well, this is the last chapter. It took me longer than I'd like to get it out, especially with its shortness, but I'm just glad I got it out before school started. I'd just like to thank everyone whose taken the time to read, review, fave or follow. I'm extremely grateful because I never thought this story would have done as well as it has.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

**Chapter Warning: **Language

* * *

And the Birds Sing No More  
XIV. End

Lovino's brother sat next to him on the couch in the living room of his mother's home, where it was decided that he would be staying until his treatments were done, holding his rough hand in his daintier one, his nails cleaned, filed and immaculate. He smelled like an expensive cologne Lovino couldn't name and it was giving him a headache. He could have said something about it, but he didn't. It just wasn't worth it.

Six months after his abduction he was seeing two therapists, detailing to the both of them about how he lived with Antonio. He kept his promise to himself and didn't tell them about kissing Antonio and his odd desire for a relationship with him, but he divulged to them about Antonio kissing _him_ only to change the subject quickly. It felt too personal.

His father came in the living room and ruffled Lovino's hair playfully, just like he used to do when Lovino was a kid, and they both attempted to smile at each other. The week before he'd gotten his hair cut back to the length it had been back before he started living with Antonio. He'd even got his teeth checked out. The dentist said they could get him a false tooth to fill the place of the one that had been knocked out but Lovino didn't want it. Running his tongue along the gum he realized that he kind of liked the space.

A few of his closer friends sipped alcohol in various corners of the room, glancing awkwardly at the decorations; banners that read, _WELCOME HOME, LOVINO!_ hung from doorways and balloons of every color bounced along the ceiling. It felt like a bit much to him, a little too impersonal, and maybe even just a little inappropriate since he wasn't exactly thrilled about returning home. His brother leaned over to him.

"How're you doing?" he asked with a weak smile and he shrugged back at his question, saying he didn't know. He was lying.

"How're you feeling about being home?" one of his friends asked, a plastic cup of beer in his hand. "…I mean, it must have been…" He seemed to want to say _awful_ but had enough sense not to. "…It must have been hard, man."

Lovino paused, then said, "I'm glad to be safe." That wasn't a lie. Continuing, he said, "After a while it wasn't…it got better, somehow. I'm not sure why." He bit down on the tip of his thumb and his father, on the other side of the room, turned to the friend who had asked the question.

"One of the therapists said it might have been Stockholm Syndrome," he explained and Lovino wished he wouldn't. He didn't like how it sounded or what it made him remember. It made anger boil in his veins and it felt too foreign beneath his skin. The friend furrowed his eyebrows slightly and opened his mouth but Lovino interrupted him and said almost bitingly, not looking at him,

"It's when you fall in love with your fucking captor."

The friend closed his mouth and didn't ask any more questions. A balloon popped in the corner of the room and everybody jumped except for Lovino.

.

It was about nine o'clock when all of the guests left. He grinned weakly at them and tried acting like there wasn't anything remotely wrong with him, grateful for the fact that they cared enough to want to find him and want to make him comfortable again, but it only made him feel uncomfortable and tired and lonely. He waved at them as they left and told his mother that he was going to bed. He had to keep the door to his bedroom open in case he tried to kill himself. That was something they warned her about.

He went to the bedroom upstairs and closed the door anyway. Everything felt grey and blue and he wanted to bring back the color. He paused by the bed and reached for his pant pocket where a rosary used to lay. Blankly, he tried to think about where Antonio might have hidden it because all the police had recovered was his wallet, phone, and keys. It made him think of his mother and when she used to pray with him as a child.

Beside the bed was where it was best to pray. His mother always said to kneel but sometimes he'd stand to make getting into bed easier. That night she was with him though, kneeling obediently beside him as they'd placed their hands together and bowed their heads. "Repeat after me," she whispered as if God would get angry she hadn't started the prayer yet.

"Our father which art in Heaven..." And he did. Every word he repeated and memorized, for it was a bedtime prayer different from the easy-to-remember 'Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep'. He was mesmerized. What did all of it mean anyway?

His mother tucked Lovino in, and his brother perched gracefully on the space that remained on the twin-sized mattress that was not taken up by his slight form. "Do evil people go to Heaven, too, Mom?" he had asked, and she gave him a puzzled look. Perhaps the prayer had been too grown-up for him. She tapped her chin thoughtfully before answering.

"I don't believe that there is pure evil in this world, Lovino. All those bad people out there just have monsters inside of them. Monsters that tell them to do terrible things. Sometimes they can conquer those monsters on their own, but sometimes they need someone to help fight them. And in the end, if they ask God for forgiveness for what they've done, they will be let into Heaven, too." She said, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on his forehead. From that night on, that was the only prayer he spoke.

It took Lovino a moment to realize he hadn't prayed in a long time.

He blinked lethargically and walked over to the wall opposite of the bed and stood in front of the closet there. Quietly, he opened it, pulling on the metal chord that brought the light bulb above his head to life. The small space filled with yellow light. He stepped inside and smelled dust. He closed the door. In his head he smelled art supplies and musk. In his head he saw color.

Lovino sat down in the closet and clicked off the light.


End file.
